FIC: In from the Cold; rated: M; warnings: some swearing and mature situations. (1/3)
Title: In from the Cold (1/3)
Rating/Warnings: M - some swearing and mature situations.
Wordcount: ~14500 (total all three parts)
Summary: Hawkeye is given the order to kill the Black Widow, but he makes a different call.
Author's notes: My take on Clint's making "a different call." A response to the be_compromised promptathon prompt "COLD APPROACH" from the spy dictionary. Thanks to sjhw_tolerance for the help with the medical bits and to allisnow for continuing to enableencourage me and beta my fic. :-D
“Don’t worry, sweet one, it will only hurt for a moment.”
Natasha Romanoff felt her heart begin to race a little faster at the sound of the all-too-familiar male voice breathing in her ear; the voice that had starred in her nightmares for much of her young life. And while she logically knew this was a nightmare and that she should move, taking down the son of a bitch in the most painful ways she knew, she was immobilized. Every time it was different - ropes, chains, drugs - and every time it ended the same: waking up drenched in sweat and fighting off the urge to vomit.
The hold of her nightmare was broken when a pinging sound rang out loudly, like a church bell tolling, and she woke safe in her bed, her body chilly from the sweat resting on her skin. She heard the sound again, and she recognized it as a text message on her cell phone. Without looking, she reached over to the bedside table from her prone position on the bed, grabbing the phone to check the text message awaiting her.
She read the text and smiled grimly; no more sleep for her. She had her next mission.
She put the phone back on the table and swung her legs off the bed, pulling herself up and heading for her closet to start her prep for the mission.
*~*
“Hawkeye, report to my office,” Nick Fury’s frustrated voice growled out over the base’s loudspeaker.
Clint Barton stopped his target practice and put the Glock on the counter in front of him. Even though he had headphones on to protect his ears, Fury’s booming voice had pierced through easily. He slipped off the protective glasses and headphones, handing them to the room attendant before leaving for his boss’ office.
Hawkeye manoeuvred through the base quickly, making his way to the fifth floor. He stopped in front of Fury’s partially open door and went to knock, but paused when he heard Fury cursing loud and long from the other side. He hoped that whatever it was that had his boss this pissed off wasn’t anything to do with him. He took a moment to consider and there was nothing that immediately came to mind that should have caused the director to be angry with him.
“Are you going to stand out there all day, Hawkeye?” Fury called.
Clint jumped slightly at the other man’s condemnation, and then glanced into the office through the door opening. Fury was still hidden behind the door, so unless he’d peeked out, he hadn’t actually seen him yet. It was the director’s talent of sensing your presence that had never failed to freak him out.
The younger man pushed open the door further and entered the office, standing at ease before Fury. “Sorry, sir, it sounded like you needed a moment.”
The director raised the eyebrow over his one good eye, his expression not terribly amused. “What I need, son, is someone to take this bitch down,” Fury stated with vehemence, slapping a file down on his desk.
Barton took that as an invitation to pick up the file and review it, which he did. He glanced at the picture clipped to the folder, and he couldn’t deny the young woman was extremely attractive. Not his usual type, but then again, he could honestly say he didn’t go for enemy combatants. He turned his gaze to the first page of the disturbingly thick file. Natasha Romanoff, if that was her real name considering the number of aliases listed, commonly referred to as “Black Widow.” He scanned the information, and was surprised that she was even younger than she looked in her photo. He flipped through a few pages before placing the file back on Fury’s desk.
“She’s done a lot of damage,” the younger man commented as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Fury snorted. “And then some. Three months ago I sent in a team of my best men to deal with her, and she dealt with them. We’ve only just found them; all dead.”
Clint couldn’t stop a brief expression of surprise from appearing on his face before returning it to neutral. “All?”
“She’s an assassin for hire, a killing machine, and she’s not big on leaving witnesses behind.” He paused, sighing deeply. “Look, we’ve tried to stop her several times now, and each time she got away. Previously she’d managed to avoid us, but now that she’s shown that she has no qualms in taking out our people, then we need to show her no mercy either. I want her dead. She’s a threat, end of story.”
Hawkeye nodded his understanding.
“How’re you doing with that new bow and arrow gear the techs gave you a couple of months ago?” Fury suddenly queried.
“Pretty good. It took some adjusting going from my usual one, but I’ve got a lot of practice with everything and they’ve certified me.”
“Good. I know you prefer the old one, but I’d like you to take that gear with you, get in some live target practice,” the director stated grimly.
“Yes, sir.”
“You better get going; she’s already on her way to her next mission in Sochi, Russia. Tread carefully when you’re there, though; the Russians are still prickly about us going into their territory without asking.”
“Understood.”
*~*
Natasha felt her stomach lurch as the truck bed she sat in hit a particularly large bump in the road, glad that the ride was almost over. Her backpack slid away from her and she grabbed it quickly before any damage could be done to the contents. She opened it and checked to make sure everything was secure. She really didn’t need to lose anything in it, or have it pop open and have the contents exposed for anyone to see.
Satisfied to see all was as it should be, she closed it up fully and looped her arms through the straps. She glanced out through the flap covering her presence and recognized the area she had intended to get out at. She rapped on the back window of the truck to indicate to the driver to stop, which he did. She didn’t bother with any sort of thanks before hopping out over the rear door; he already had got enough with the ridiculous fee he had charged to get her to Sochi from Moscow.
Once out of the back of the truck, Natasha shivered in the cold air, momentarily pausing to rub her arms through her black leather jacket. As the truck began to pull away, she dashed through the trees to an old side road that led to the hospital, careful not to trip over anything in the low light filtering down through the trees. Even when she was out of the trees and heading for a gully, she found that there wasn't much natural light to help her due to the cloudy evening. She mentally shrugged off the thought, knowing that she had prepared for most any eventuality.
She hid along the side of the road, waiting to see what traffic was like. She had been told by her driver that this route was rarely used now that the better, main roads had been built, but she never only took the word of a source. She trusted her own eyes much more.
After about fifteen minutes of enjoying the quiet, chilly evening with only a couple of cars having passed, she felt safe to head to her next stop: a small shack up the road where she could get changed. She scrambled out of her hiding place and ran down the road to the shack, entering through the unlocked door. She was glad to see that it was indeed empty as promised, and while it was no luxury home, it at least was still livable as far as keeping the cold of the evening outside.
Natasha didn’t bother to try to find any lights to turn on, not wanting to draw attention to the shack, but she did need a bit of light while she changed. She quickly slipped her backpack off her shoulders, placing it on the ground next to her feet and then opened and dug into the front pocket to find the small flashlight in there. She took it out and turned it on, doing a quick search for a table to sit it on and found one a couple of feet away. She picked up the backpack and walked over to the table, placing the backpack and flashlight down on it, coughing slightly at the dust that got raised as the air moved on the obviously disused piece of furniture. She made sure the flashlight didn’t reflect off anything or shine out the single small front window.
She proceeded to strip off her black jacket, boots, top, pants and hat, tossing them aside on the table for the moment. She hung upside down for a moment, shaking out her long, red hair and fluffing it with her fingers in an attempt to take out any tangles. She straightened up again and dug into another, larger pocket of the backpack, pulling out the shoes and vacuum-sealed nurse’s uniform she needed. She placed the shoes on the floor and reached for the knife holster on her right thigh, sliding out the dagger that sat sheathed in it. She sliced into the package, stopping when she heard the slight hiss of escaping air. She replaced the knife and yanked open the plastic, pulling out the uniform and shaking it out from its folded state. Luckily it had few creases, so she would look acceptable to gain her entry to the hospital grounds. She slipped on the skirt and top, adjusting both until they sat properly, especially important as the skirt had to hide her knife holster. She pulled on the shoes, and then gathered her hair, pulling it up and twisting it into as close of a matronly bun as she could manage without a mirror. She would have to try to check everything in a window somewhere, if at all possible, but from what she could tell, she was ready to go.
Natasha tossed the packaging, boots and clothes into the backpack, zipping it up once she had everything. Not wanting to walk too long in the chilly evening without some cover over the uniform, she slipped the leather jacket back on. She then shrugged on the backpack and grabbed the flashlight, flicking it off, and allowed her eyes to adjust to full darkness again before she made her way to the front door of the shack. Waiting a moment to listen for any sign of a person or cars, and hearing nothing but the sounds of nature, she opened the door and made her way back to the road.
She walked for close to ten minutes before she reached the fence that surrounded the dark southern side of the hospital grounds. Since there was no light and no one around to see her, she flicked on the flashlight once again to lead her the rest of the way to the chained, disused entrance. She shrugged off her backpack again, pulling out the bolt cutters and chopped into the chain, yanking it out of the chain link fence and tossing it to the ground. She returned the cutters to her backpack and threw the bag back over one shoulder, entering the grounds through the now open gate.
She made her way quickly along the deserted stretch of road, keeping the flashlight pointed low to not only light her way, but also just in case there were cameras around that might catch the light. For an area that saw little use, she found it surprisingly well-maintained.
As she got closer to the lit area of the grounds, she flicked off the flashlight again and stowed it in her jacket pocket for now. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light again and she made her way to the edge of the woods, waiting to see if there were any patrols, as well as glancing around to see where there might be any cameras to catch her entrance. After a few minutes of observing, she saw and heard no patrols and had picked out the two cameras at this end of the main hospital complex. They probably weren’t the only ones, but she would figure out the best route to the back door avoiding those for now.
The decision for her route set in her mind, she made her way as quickly and quietly along the tree line toward the main hospital building, keeping steady watch and listening for anything other than normal nature sounds. She got to the building’s back door without incident, but that still didn’t set her nerves any less on edge, and they wouldn’t be until she was done with the mission and far away from this place.
Natasha punched in the code for the back door and grunted with satisfaction when the red light turned green. She heard the click of the latch and pulled open the door, entering the building. She noticed that while there were some cameras mounted along the ceiling of the corridor, they gave no indication of working. All the same, she did her level best to avoid being seen straight on by any one of them.
Needing to clean off the bit of dirt and mud from her shoes, she found a restroom a few doors in. She slipped off the backpack and leather jacket, checking her outfit and hair in the small mirror as best she could. She deemed herself acceptable again and stowed the jacket in the backpack, sliding the pack onto her left shoulder before going back out into the corridor.
She walked confidently down the corridor, as though she was supposed to be there. She was glad though that it was relatively quiet in this wing of the hospital at this time of night; she only came across one nurse who nodded efficiently at her before continuing briskly on her way to wherever she was going.
Natasha slowed her pace and started to pay closer attention to the room numbers. She was getting closer to General Vasiliy Bagrov's room, her target who was laid up following a skiing accident. She stopped once she found the room, glancing around to see if anyone was coming her way. Seeing no one, she turned the knob to the private room, pushing it open only a little and as quietly as she could manage.
She slid into the room and quietly closed the door once again. It was dark; the only light came from the little bit of moonlight shining through the partially open curtains. Other than her own measured breaths, the only sound in the room was that of Bagrov breathing steadily while he slept. The older man’s shape took form as her eyes adjusted to the dim light: he lay sprawled out on the hospital bed, his injured right leg in a cast and slightly elevated. She momentarily felt the old disgust and nausea at the sight of him.
She pushed those feelings down, intent on keeping focus in order to complete this mission. Her reasons for doing this were twofold: she was being paid quite well to kill this monster, and, more importantly to her, he was one of the monsters who had made her.
Feeling a calm wash over her, she turned the lock on the door and moved toward the bed. She stopped beside the bed and moved the call button out of his reach. She stood there for a minute watching him sleep, so completely unaware of the danger he faced. Normally this would suit her just fine, but this time she wanted her victim to see her before he died.
She didn’t want to risk him moving or calling out when she went to do the deed, so she pulled out two ropes from her backpack before leaving the bag on the floor. She moved first around to the other side of the bed, managing to slide the rope around his right arm without waking him, tying it snugly to the bed. She then went back to the other side of the bed and did the same with his left arm. She looked around and found a washcloth on the small table next to the bed. She picked it up and placed it into the older man’s open mouth. Surprisingly he didn’t react, so now that she knew he couldn’t do anything that would bring attention to the room, she leaned toward him, whispering loudly and harshly in Russian, “Wake up you bastard and face your reckoning!”
The old man snorted in reaction and appeared to nearly swallow the cloth in his mouth. His eyes flew open as he choked on the cloth and he tried to spit it out, but she moved quickly to shove it in further to make sure it stayed in. His breathing through his nose was harsh as he struggled with his bonds. He stared wildly at Natasha, at first seeming to not know her, but then she saw the recognition in his eyes, giving her a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“Yes, I’ve come to do what should have been done long ago, long before you ever got your hands on me,” she spat out. “Your protectors have abandoned you, and now I am passing judgment for all the children’s lives you ruined.”
Natasha left him to ponder her words as she leaned down to pick up the backpack again, searching for and finding the large syringe she’d brought. She pulled it out and stood up again. She was amused to see Bagrov continue to vainly fight to escape as she unwrapped the syringe from its protective packaging. She slowly pulled it out, revealing it to him and trying not to laugh aloud as his eyes widened even more.
She tossed aside the packaging and pulled back the plunger, allowing the barrel to fill with air. She approached the bed and angled the syringe toward his neck, aiming for the carotid artery. Not surprisingly he moved his head so as to block her from sticking him with the needle, and she momentarily kicked herself for not thinking of tying his head down as well. She pushed that aside for now and grabbed his head, forcing it to an angle that exposed his neck again.
“Don’t worry, you son of a bitch, this will only hurt for a second,” she uttered roughly, repeating words he’d said to her countless times in her childhood.
She quickly plunged the needle into the artery before he had a chance to block her once more. She stayed focused on pushing the plunger in, ignoring his muted, mewling cries as she forced the huge air bubble into his artery.
She heard him scream into the cloth in his mouth as she yanked out the needle again, not caring if she caused any bleeding. She stood and watched him momentarily and vainly fight against his bonds, and then he suddenly stopped, seeming to lie there almost placidly. The air had made it to his brain in a literal heartbeat, causing a stroke. Despite this deceptive calm from him, she could see the fear in his eyes as he watched her.
Natasha threw out the syringe in the garbage pail near the bed, and then picked up her backpack. She pulled out a lighter from one of the smaller pockets and proceeded to light the bed sheets on fire. She looked up at the sprinkler above the bed and was pleased to see that, as promised, it didn’t kick in. Her contact had told her that the hospital was behind on upgrades, but they hadn’t shared this news with anyone since they knew they’d be shut down.
The polyester in the sheets easily spread the fire, and she quickly left the room, not wanting to stick around to watch any further now that she was sure that the monster would get his due. His death would certainly be faster than those of the children he abused over the years.
Natasha closed up her backpack and threw it over her shoulders as she swiftly walked down the corridor to the back door again, eager to get outside and breathe in fresh air in order to remove the stench of burning pig out of her nostrils.
*~*
Clint ran through the woods in the direction of the hospital grounds in Sochi. In the chilly night air he still felt damp after having been dropped off by a stealth chopper out in the Black Sea. He hadn't been keen on having to swim before the run to the hospital, but they didn't have a choice about where they would drop him. The Russians were on high alert for some reason, so the closest they could get him was out in the water before they might run into any air patrols. Fortunately he hadn’t had to stay in the wet suit once he got to land, but stripping it off and pulling on his usual gear did slow him down some. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to catch Romanoff before she slipped off into the night.
He arrived outside the chain link fence on the southern side of the grounds and stopped to once again check the tiny cloaking device attached to his vest. Happily it was still doing its job, or at least he assumed it was. The green light the techs had told him would indicate the device was working was still shining brightly. Of course the true test would come once he went on the grounds. If the floodlights came on and sirens screamed, he was pretty sure that would be a fairly good indication of it not working. He just had to trust in the techs' abilities to get this right. After all, they'd given him his new bow and arrows, and those worked pretty damn well.
It was dark around this area of the hospital grounds, but Hawkeye could see light in the distance. He walked along the fence, finally finding an open gate. He had a feeling he was literally following in Romanoff’s footsteps, so he kept himself on even higher alert in case he ran into her soon.
He entered the grounds and swiftly, yet quietly, made his way toward the light, doing his best to keep an eye out for anything that could literally trip him up. So far he'd done pretty well, but he didn't want to get overconfident and end up tripping on a root, injuring himself needlessly.
Clint arrived at the lit area of the hospital grounds, stopping beside the furthest building in the complex. So far no sirens, which was a good thing, but also no sign of any patrols. He thought it was a bit odd, but maybe it was by design. Maybe Romanoff had made sure that she would have as few obstacles as possible to complete her mission.
He quickly eyed all the buildings around and picked out the highest one with what he felt would have the best possible view of the main building. Even though he hadn't seen any patrols, and he noted that there were not very many cameras either, he still tread carefully as he made his way between buildings.
Once he got to the building he chose, he climbed the maintenance ladder up to the roof, keeping low as he crouch/crawled to the side that faced the main building.
Hawkeye slipped the quiver over his head and pulled out the flattened bow, leaning the quiver against the lip of the roof's edge. With now practiced ease, he flicked his wrist and the bow expanded to its full size. He then slid out one arrow, nocking it and lining up the shot for both possible exits from the hospital, adjusting as needed for wind speed and direction. He knew he didn’t really need to do that with these fancy high tech toys he’d been given since the arrows were as good as a guided missile, but old habits die hard. He lowered the bow and arrow once he was sure he was good to go, waiting patiently for Romanoff to come out of the hospital.
He didn't have long to wait as a few minutes later he caught sight of her slinking out the back door, glancing around before she made her way down the stairs. She was dressed in what looked like a nurse's uniform, but even at this distance there was no mistaking her red hair and bee stung lips.
He brought up the bow and arrow, lining it up and tracking her while she walked. He pulled back on the string, confident he had her when he was surprised by an explosion erupting from the far end of the main hospital building. He almost let the arrow launch and go off wildly, but he managed to stop it before it actually flew.
As alarms wailed and people screamed, Clint made himself refocus on the young woman who had actually paused to look back in the direction of the explosion. He zoned in on her, pulling back on the string again. He was once more about to loose the arrow when she looked around and faced his direction; her expression gave him pause. He saw a mix of emotions flitting across her features: indecision, sadness, fear, anger. The last two he could explain away as her having thought she would get away clean, and whatever she'd done had now made it a real possibility she would get caught. But the indecision and sadness, those weren't expected from her considering her history, and he was curious as to what was the cause.
Patients and staff began to stream out of the hospital exits, and he noticed that there were children - some appearing to be freshly injured - coming from the exit near where the explosion had occurred. He glanced at her again and saw the sadness deepen on her face as she turned herself away from the destruction she'd caused.
[Could she actually have a heart after all?] he wondered.
He caught sight of a man in a Russian military-issue gray coat coming out the back door, but Romanoff had her back to him and didn't seem to be going anywhere fast. That indecision she seemed to be fighting with was going to get her killed, and despite his orders, Clint no longer wanted to see her dead. He was starting to think there could be hope for her.
Decision made, he adjusted the tiny arrowhead display from explosive to tracker mode and then set up his shot. He let the arrow fly with absolute precision and he watched it pierce her backpack.
Not surprisingly she reacted immediately, glancing at the arrow now sticking out of her bag, and then up in his direction. He ducked down, hiding below the lip of the roof's edge, and when he dared to look up again, he was pleased to see she was long gone, the arrow's shaft on the ground where she had been standing.
Hawkeye sighed and lay down on the roof so that he was hidden once more. He'd have to wait until the craziness down there eased up before he could make his escape and get on comms with Fury. At least it would give him time to figure out how he was going to convince his boss that he'd made the right decision, and that they needed to bring the young woman in and not take her down.
End of part one
part two
Rating/Warnings: M - some swearing and mature situations.
Wordcount: ~14500 (total all three parts)
Summary: Hawkeye is given the order to kill the Black Widow, but he makes a different call.
Author's notes: My take on Clint's making "a different call." A response to the be_compromised promptathon prompt "COLD APPROACH" from the spy dictionary. Thanks to sjhw_tolerance for the help with the medical bits and to allisnow for continuing to enableencourage me and beta my fic. :-D
“Don’t worry, sweet one, it will only hurt for a moment.”
Natasha Romanoff felt her heart begin to race a little faster at the sound of the all-too-familiar male voice breathing in her ear; the voice that had starred in her nightmares for much of her young life. And while she logically knew this was a nightmare and that she should move, taking down the son of a bitch in the most painful ways she knew, she was immobilized. Every time it was different - ropes, chains, drugs - and every time it ended the same: waking up drenched in sweat and fighting off the urge to vomit.
The hold of her nightmare was broken when a pinging sound rang out loudly, like a church bell tolling, and she woke safe in her bed, her body chilly from the sweat resting on her skin. She heard the sound again, and she recognized it as a text message on her cell phone. Without looking, she reached over to the bedside table from her prone position on the bed, grabbing the phone to check the text message awaiting her.
She read the text and smiled grimly; no more sleep for her. She had her next mission.
She put the phone back on the table and swung her legs off the bed, pulling herself up and heading for her closet to start her prep for the mission.
*~*
“Hawkeye, report to my office,” Nick Fury’s frustrated voice growled out over the base’s loudspeaker.
Clint Barton stopped his target practice and put the Glock on the counter in front of him. Even though he had headphones on to protect his ears, Fury’s booming voice had pierced through easily. He slipped off the protective glasses and headphones, handing them to the room attendant before leaving for his boss’ office.
Hawkeye manoeuvred through the base quickly, making his way to the fifth floor. He stopped in front of Fury’s partially open door and went to knock, but paused when he heard Fury cursing loud and long from the other side. He hoped that whatever it was that had his boss this pissed off wasn’t anything to do with him. He took a moment to consider and there was nothing that immediately came to mind that should have caused the director to be angry with him.
“Are you going to stand out there all day, Hawkeye?” Fury called.
Clint jumped slightly at the other man’s condemnation, and then glanced into the office through the door opening. Fury was still hidden behind the door, so unless he’d peeked out, he hadn’t actually seen him yet. It was the director’s talent of sensing your presence that had never failed to freak him out.
The younger man pushed open the door further and entered the office, standing at ease before Fury. “Sorry, sir, it sounded like you needed a moment.”
The director raised the eyebrow over his one good eye, his expression not terribly amused. “What I need, son, is someone to take this bitch down,” Fury stated with vehemence, slapping a file down on his desk.
Barton took that as an invitation to pick up the file and review it, which he did. He glanced at the picture clipped to the folder, and he couldn’t deny the young woman was extremely attractive. Not his usual type, but then again, he could honestly say he didn’t go for enemy combatants. He turned his gaze to the first page of the disturbingly thick file. Natasha Romanoff, if that was her real name considering the number of aliases listed, commonly referred to as “Black Widow.” He scanned the information, and was surprised that she was even younger than she looked in her photo. He flipped through a few pages before placing the file back on Fury’s desk.
“She’s done a lot of damage,” the younger man commented as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
Fury snorted. “And then some. Three months ago I sent in a team of my best men to deal with her, and she dealt with them. We’ve only just found them; all dead.”
Clint couldn’t stop a brief expression of surprise from appearing on his face before returning it to neutral. “All?”
“She’s an assassin for hire, a killing machine, and she’s not big on leaving witnesses behind.” He paused, sighing deeply. “Look, we’ve tried to stop her several times now, and each time she got away. Previously she’d managed to avoid us, but now that she’s shown that she has no qualms in taking out our people, then we need to show her no mercy either. I want her dead. She’s a threat, end of story.”
Hawkeye nodded his understanding.
“How’re you doing with that new bow and arrow gear the techs gave you a couple of months ago?” Fury suddenly queried.
“Pretty good. It took some adjusting going from my usual one, but I’ve got a lot of practice with everything and they’ve certified me.”
“Good. I know you prefer the old one, but I’d like you to take that gear with you, get in some live target practice,” the director stated grimly.
“Yes, sir.”
“You better get going; she’s already on her way to her next mission in Sochi, Russia. Tread carefully when you’re there, though; the Russians are still prickly about us going into their territory without asking.”
“Understood.”
*~*
Natasha felt her stomach lurch as the truck bed she sat in hit a particularly large bump in the road, glad that the ride was almost over. Her backpack slid away from her and she grabbed it quickly before any damage could be done to the contents. She opened it and checked to make sure everything was secure. She really didn’t need to lose anything in it, or have it pop open and have the contents exposed for anyone to see.
Satisfied to see all was as it should be, she closed it up fully and looped her arms through the straps. She glanced out through the flap covering her presence and recognized the area she had intended to get out at. She rapped on the back window of the truck to indicate to the driver to stop, which he did. She didn’t bother with any sort of thanks before hopping out over the rear door; he already had got enough with the ridiculous fee he had charged to get her to Sochi from Moscow.
Once out of the back of the truck, Natasha shivered in the cold air, momentarily pausing to rub her arms through her black leather jacket. As the truck began to pull away, she dashed through the trees to an old side road that led to the hospital, careful not to trip over anything in the low light filtering down through the trees. Even when she was out of the trees and heading for a gully, she found that there wasn't much natural light to help her due to the cloudy evening. She mentally shrugged off the thought, knowing that she had prepared for most any eventuality.
She hid along the side of the road, waiting to see what traffic was like. She had been told by her driver that this route was rarely used now that the better, main roads had been built, but she never only took the word of a source. She trusted her own eyes much more.
After about fifteen minutes of enjoying the quiet, chilly evening with only a couple of cars having passed, she felt safe to head to her next stop: a small shack up the road where she could get changed. She scrambled out of her hiding place and ran down the road to the shack, entering through the unlocked door. She was glad to see that it was indeed empty as promised, and while it was no luxury home, it at least was still livable as far as keeping the cold of the evening outside.
Natasha didn’t bother to try to find any lights to turn on, not wanting to draw attention to the shack, but she did need a bit of light while she changed. She quickly slipped her backpack off her shoulders, placing it on the ground next to her feet and then opened and dug into the front pocket to find the small flashlight in there. She took it out and turned it on, doing a quick search for a table to sit it on and found one a couple of feet away. She picked up the backpack and walked over to the table, placing the backpack and flashlight down on it, coughing slightly at the dust that got raised as the air moved on the obviously disused piece of furniture. She made sure the flashlight didn’t reflect off anything or shine out the single small front window.
She proceeded to strip off her black jacket, boots, top, pants and hat, tossing them aside on the table for the moment. She hung upside down for a moment, shaking out her long, red hair and fluffing it with her fingers in an attempt to take out any tangles. She straightened up again and dug into another, larger pocket of the backpack, pulling out the shoes and vacuum-sealed nurse’s uniform she needed. She placed the shoes on the floor and reached for the knife holster on her right thigh, sliding out the dagger that sat sheathed in it. She sliced into the package, stopping when she heard the slight hiss of escaping air. She replaced the knife and yanked open the plastic, pulling out the uniform and shaking it out from its folded state. Luckily it had few creases, so she would look acceptable to gain her entry to the hospital grounds. She slipped on the skirt and top, adjusting both until they sat properly, especially important as the skirt had to hide her knife holster. She pulled on the shoes, and then gathered her hair, pulling it up and twisting it into as close of a matronly bun as she could manage without a mirror. She would have to try to check everything in a window somewhere, if at all possible, but from what she could tell, she was ready to go.
Natasha tossed the packaging, boots and clothes into the backpack, zipping it up once she had everything. Not wanting to walk too long in the chilly evening without some cover over the uniform, she slipped the leather jacket back on. She then shrugged on the backpack and grabbed the flashlight, flicking it off, and allowed her eyes to adjust to full darkness again before she made her way to the front door of the shack. Waiting a moment to listen for any sign of a person or cars, and hearing nothing but the sounds of nature, she opened the door and made her way back to the road.
She walked for close to ten minutes before she reached the fence that surrounded the dark southern side of the hospital grounds. Since there was no light and no one around to see her, she flicked on the flashlight once again to lead her the rest of the way to the chained, disused entrance. She shrugged off her backpack again, pulling out the bolt cutters and chopped into the chain, yanking it out of the chain link fence and tossing it to the ground. She returned the cutters to her backpack and threw the bag back over one shoulder, entering the grounds through the now open gate.
She made her way quickly along the deserted stretch of road, keeping the flashlight pointed low to not only light her way, but also just in case there were cameras around that might catch the light. For an area that saw little use, she found it surprisingly well-maintained.
As she got closer to the lit area of the grounds, she flicked off the flashlight again and stowed it in her jacket pocket for now. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light again and she made her way to the edge of the woods, waiting to see if there were any patrols, as well as glancing around to see where there might be any cameras to catch her entrance. After a few minutes of observing, she saw and heard no patrols and had picked out the two cameras at this end of the main hospital complex. They probably weren’t the only ones, but she would figure out the best route to the back door avoiding those for now.
The decision for her route set in her mind, she made her way as quickly and quietly along the tree line toward the main hospital building, keeping steady watch and listening for anything other than normal nature sounds. She got to the building’s back door without incident, but that still didn’t set her nerves any less on edge, and they wouldn’t be until she was done with the mission and far away from this place.
Natasha punched in the code for the back door and grunted with satisfaction when the red light turned green. She heard the click of the latch and pulled open the door, entering the building. She noticed that while there were some cameras mounted along the ceiling of the corridor, they gave no indication of working. All the same, she did her level best to avoid being seen straight on by any one of them.
Needing to clean off the bit of dirt and mud from her shoes, she found a restroom a few doors in. She slipped off the backpack and leather jacket, checking her outfit and hair in the small mirror as best she could. She deemed herself acceptable again and stowed the jacket in the backpack, sliding the pack onto her left shoulder before going back out into the corridor.
She walked confidently down the corridor, as though she was supposed to be there. She was glad though that it was relatively quiet in this wing of the hospital at this time of night; she only came across one nurse who nodded efficiently at her before continuing briskly on her way to wherever she was going.
Natasha slowed her pace and started to pay closer attention to the room numbers. She was getting closer to General Vasiliy Bagrov's room, her target who was laid up following a skiing accident. She stopped once she found the room, glancing around to see if anyone was coming her way. Seeing no one, she turned the knob to the private room, pushing it open only a little and as quietly as she could manage.
She slid into the room and quietly closed the door once again. It was dark; the only light came from the little bit of moonlight shining through the partially open curtains. Other than her own measured breaths, the only sound in the room was that of Bagrov breathing steadily while he slept. The older man’s shape took form as her eyes adjusted to the dim light: he lay sprawled out on the hospital bed, his injured right leg in a cast and slightly elevated. She momentarily felt the old disgust and nausea at the sight of him.
She pushed those feelings down, intent on keeping focus in order to complete this mission. Her reasons for doing this were twofold: she was being paid quite well to kill this monster, and, more importantly to her, he was one of the monsters who had made her.
Feeling a calm wash over her, she turned the lock on the door and moved toward the bed. She stopped beside the bed and moved the call button out of his reach. She stood there for a minute watching him sleep, so completely unaware of the danger he faced. Normally this would suit her just fine, but this time she wanted her victim to see her before he died.
She didn’t want to risk him moving or calling out when she went to do the deed, so she pulled out two ropes from her backpack before leaving the bag on the floor. She moved first around to the other side of the bed, managing to slide the rope around his right arm without waking him, tying it snugly to the bed. She then went back to the other side of the bed and did the same with his left arm. She looked around and found a washcloth on the small table next to the bed. She picked it up and placed it into the older man’s open mouth. Surprisingly he didn’t react, so now that she knew he couldn’t do anything that would bring attention to the room, she leaned toward him, whispering loudly and harshly in Russian, “Wake up you bastard and face your reckoning!”
The old man snorted in reaction and appeared to nearly swallow the cloth in his mouth. His eyes flew open as he choked on the cloth and he tried to spit it out, but she moved quickly to shove it in further to make sure it stayed in. His breathing through his nose was harsh as he struggled with his bonds. He stared wildly at Natasha, at first seeming to not know her, but then she saw the recognition in his eyes, giving her a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“Yes, I’ve come to do what should have been done long ago, long before you ever got your hands on me,” she spat out. “Your protectors have abandoned you, and now I am passing judgment for all the children’s lives you ruined.”
Natasha left him to ponder her words as she leaned down to pick up the backpack again, searching for and finding the large syringe she’d brought. She pulled it out and stood up again. She was amused to see Bagrov continue to vainly fight to escape as she unwrapped the syringe from its protective packaging. She slowly pulled it out, revealing it to him and trying not to laugh aloud as his eyes widened even more.
She tossed aside the packaging and pulled back the plunger, allowing the barrel to fill with air. She approached the bed and angled the syringe toward his neck, aiming for the carotid artery. Not surprisingly he moved his head so as to block her from sticking him with the needle, and she momentarily kicked herself for not thinking of tying his head down as well. She pushed that aside for now and grabbed his head, forcing it to an angle that exposed his neck again.
“Don’t worry, you son of a bitch, this will only hurt for a second,” she uttered roughly, repeating words he’d said to her countless times in her childhood.
She quickly plunged the needle into the artery before he had a chance to block her once more. She stayed focused on pushing the plunger in, ignoring his muted, mewling cries as she forced the huge air bubble into his artery.
She heard him scream into the cloth in his mouth as she yanked out the needle again, not caring if she caused any bleeding. She stood and watched him momentarily and vainly fight against his bonds, and then he suddenly stopped, seeming to lie there almost placidly. The air had made it to his brain in a literal heartbeat, causing a stroke. Despite this deceptive calm from him, she could see the fear in his eyes as he watched her.
Natasha threw out the syringe in the garbage pail near the bed, and then picked up her backpack. She pulled out a lighter from one of the smaller pockets and proceeded to light the bed sheets on fire. She looked up at the sprinkler above the bed and was pleased to see that, as promised, it didn’t kick in. Her contact had told her that the hospital was behind on upgrades, but they hadn’t shared this news with anyone since they knew they’d be shut down.
The polyester in the sheets easily spread the fire, and she quickly left the room, not wanting to stick around to watch any further now that she was sure that the monster would get his due. His death would certainly be faster than those of the children he abused over the years.
Natasha closed up her backpack and threw it over her shoulders as she swiftly walked down the corridor to the back door again, eager to get outside and breathe in fresh air in order to remove the stench of burning pig out of her nostrils.
*~*
Clint ran through the woods in the direction of the hospital grounds in Sochi. In the chilly night air he still felt damp after having been dropped off by a stealth chopper out in the Black Sea. He hadn't been keen on having to swim before the run to the hospital, but they didn't have a choice about where they would drop him. The Russians were on high alert for some reason, so the closest they could get him was out in the water before they might run into any air patrols. Fortunately he hadn’t had to stay in the wet suit once he got to land, but stripping it off and pulling on his usual gear did slow him down some. He just hoped he wasn’t too late to catch Romanoff before she slipped off into the night.
He arrived outside the chain link fence on the southern side of the grounds and stopped to once again check the tiny cloaking device attached to his vest. Happily it was still doing its job, or at least he assumed it was. The green light the techs had told him would indicate the device was working was still shining brightly. Of course the true test would come once he went on the grounds. If the floodlights came on and sirens screamed, he was pretty sure that would be a fairly good indication of it not working. He just had to trust in the techs' abilities to get this right. After all, they'd given him his new bow and arrows, and those worked pretty damn well.
It was dark around this area of the hospital grounds, but Hawkeye could see light in the distance. He walked along the fence, finally finding an open gate. He had a feeling he was literally following in Romanoff’s footsteps, so he kept himself on even higher alert in case he ran into her soon.
He entered the grounds and swiftly, yet quietly, made his way toward the light, doing his best to keep an eye out for anything that could literally trip him up. So far he'd done pretty well, but he didn't want to get overconfident and end up tripping on a root, injuring himself needlessly.
Clint arrived at the lit area of the hospital grounds, stopping beside the furthest building in the complex. So far no sirens, which was a good thing, but also no sign of any patrols. He thought it was a bit odd, but maybe it was by design. Maybe Romanoff had made sure that she would have as few obstacles as possible to complete her mission.
He quickly eyed all the buildings around and picked out the highest one with what he felt would have the best possible view of the main building. Even though he hadn't seen any patrols, and he noted that there were not very many cameras either, he still tread carefully as he made his way between buildings.
Once he got to the building he chose, he climbed the maintenance ladder up to the roof, keeping low as he crouch/crawled to the side that faced the main building.
Hawkeye slipped the quiver over his head and pulled out the flattened bow, leaning the quiver against the lip of the roof's edge. With now practiced ease, he flicked his wrist and the bow expanded to its full size. He then slid out one arrow, nocking it and lining up the shot for both possible exits from the hospital, adjusting as needed for wind speed and direction. He knew he didn’t really need to do that with these fancy high tech toys he’d been given since the arrows were as good as a guided missile, but old habits die hard. He lowered the bow and arrow once he was sure he was good to go, waiting patiently for Romanoff to come out of the hospital.
He didn't have long to wait as a few minutes later he caught sight of her slinking out the back door, glancing around before she made her way down the stairs. She was dressed in what looked like a nurse's uniform, but even at this distance there was no mistaking her red hair and bee stung lips.
He brought up the bow and arrow, lining it up and tracking her while she walked. He pulled back on the string, confident he had her when he was surprised by an explosion erupting from the far end of the main hospital building. He almost let the arrow launch and go off wildly, but he managed to stop it before it actually flew.
As alarms wailed and people screamed, Clint made himself refocus on the young woman who had actually paused to look back in the direction of the explosion. He zoned in on her, pulling back on the string again. He was once more about to loose the arrow when she looked around and faced his direction; her expression gave him pause. He saw a mix of emotions flitting across her features: indecision, sadness, fear, anger. The last two he could explain away as her having thought she would get away clean, and whatever she'd done had now made it a real possibility she would get caught. But the indecision and sadness, those weren't expected from her considering her history, and he was curious as to what was the cause.
Patients and staff began to stream out of the hospital exits, and he noticed that there were children - some appearing to be freshly injured - coming from the exit near where the explosion had occurred. He glanced at her again and saw the sadness deepen on her face as she turned herself away from the destruction she'd caused.
[Could she actually have a heart after all?] he wondered.
He caught sight of a man in a Russian military-issue gray coat coming out the back door, but Romanoff had her back to him and didn't seem to be going anywhere fast. That indecision she seemed to be fighting with was going to get her killed, and despite his orders, Clint no longer wanted to see her dead. He was starting to think there could be hope for her.
Decision made, he adjusted the tiny arrowhead display from explosive to tracker mode and then set up his shot. He let the arrow fly with absolute precision and he watched it pierce her backpack.
Not surprisingly she reacted immediately, glancing at the arrow now sticking out of her bag, and then up in his direction. He ducked down, hiding below the lip of the roof's edge, and when he dared to look up again, he was pleased to see she was long gone, the arrow's shaft on the ground where she had been standing.
Hawkeye sighed and lay down on the roof so that he was hidden once more. He'd have to wait until the craziness down there eased up before he could make his escape and get on comms with Fury. At least it would give him time to figure out how he was going to convince his boss that he'd made the right decision, and that they needed to bring the young woman in and not take her down.
End of part one
part two