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Entry tags:
Avengers - Monochomatic
I keep poking at this and changing like a single word here or there so I figure I should probably post it and let it be by now.
Title: Monochromatic
Genre: Gen, Team
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,000 words
Warnings: Mild language, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: Everything in her world comes down to black or white. Her teammates disagree.
Author's Notes: For the "loss of employment/income" square at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available at AO3.
The single black rose left on the corner of Fifth and Elm was the first sign. The one left on Eighth and Fourteenth two cities away was another.
It wasn't that much of a surprise, not really. Most of her contacts had known for some time that she was not readily available, even if they did not always know just who it was that gave her such regular employment. She found it disconcerting that there was two such signs so close to each other, but she shook it off as coincidence as it had happened before and may well happen again.
Still, she checked the three closest known connection points just to make sure. And, not quite as expected, found three more of the dark blooms.
She wasn't panicking. She did not panic. Still, she knew well enough to believe that there was definitely something going on, something she needed to delve a bit deeper into to be able to fully figure out.
It was pushed to the side when a mission sprung up. Not just SHIELD, but Avengers-worthy even. The people she was reluctantly beginning to call "team" gathered around, analyzed the intel, and headed out, weapons at the ready.
They fought, they won, they returned covered in blood and gore and something Stark assured her was solely the equivalent of transmission fluid from one of the machines involved. He offered her use of one of the suites at Stark Tower to clean up, and she accepted. Never satisfied with an inch when he could take a mile, he then offered her permanent use of not just a suite, but of an entire floor of the building. She declined.
She let his driver take her back to SHIELD headquarters though, and he did not even blink when she suggested a way around a particularly annoying bit of traffic that seemed more convoluted than most. She gazed out the darkened window when he slowed at a turn, and sighed heavily when she saw yet another rose tied to the stop sign nearby.
Barton had, of course, jumped at the chance to live in Stark's less-than-little commune. The fact he had talked Rogers into it was truly impressive, but not as much as the feat of talking Banner into not only staying in the states, but in a heavily populated area for a decently long period of time. Thor accepted the rooms on a contingent basis, with that contingency being for the times he was both on Earth and not visiting that scientist of his in New Mexico.
That left her.
She figured when she walked into her relatively barren quarters to find two boxes and a handwritten note from Director Fury that stated simply, "For fuck's sake, go," that she had the closest thing to his blessing that she was going to get. She packed up her gear, signed the shipping manifest, and promptly analyzed the benefits of being to sneak away from SHIELD's watchful eyes against Stark's likelihood of tracking her every move.
Surprisingly, when he showed her her rooms, floor really as he had previously promised, he also showed her the known and obvious security areas and where and how she could deactivate what she did not want. She looked at him skeptically, but he simply shrugged and said, "I talked to Barton, he made me promise." And she certainly regretted not being part of that conversation, especially when he added, "And then Steve gave me those eyes that meant he was judging me, and you definitely do not want Captain Fricken America on your bad side."
That earned him a smile, and Rogers a thank you. She unpacked her few belongings and even ventured into what had been designated as the shared areas, where Clint quickly pounced to show her how to requisition preferred foods or other items and thoroughly abused the use of the word "awesome" in his descriptors.
As soon as she was able to, she snuck away. Not just from the tower, but from the country as a whole. She checked two of her safe houses, relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. She checked a dozen more contact points, and came up with a full bouquet.
She was called back before she could connect with any actual person, even though she found the message loud and clear and rather repetitive at this point. The team picked her up from Prague and did not even ask why she was there as they sped off to save the world once more.
It was two missions later, after successfully defeating a group that put AIM to shame with their incompetency, that she found herself actually looking forward to what was quickly becoming the group's post-mission ritual of takeout and vast quantities of booze for those who partook the vice. They returned to the tower to find that a package had arrived and the equivalent of the concierge had taken the liberty of holding it for her.
The box was large and a little unwieldy and she knew its contents without even opening it. Stark tech had already scanned it for incendiary devices, which meant Tony would be able to tell her what it was if he cared to look at the scan results, but she had at least three other teammates giddy on their recent victory offer her knives from various places on their person and, in Clint's case, tease that it was not fair to make them wait now that she had piqued their curiosity.
She begged off and took it to her rooms anyway. She gave the excuse that she - and they - needed to wash before dinner and, besides, the gift was for her and her alone. Barton pouted, but she knew him well enough to know he suspected something. More importantly, he knew her well enough to grant her privacy when she was so obviously requesting it.
The elevator ride was short, but the walk to the counter of her private kitchen seemed to take far longer than it truly should. She pulled one of her knives and made short work of the packaging revealing, as expected, a simple white florist's box underneath. Inside that box was a bouquet of roses, the petals as dark as the obsidian vase they rested in, a simple red ribbon tied around the rim. Her colors. Her message. She did not even look for a card to see who it was from, knowing there was no need.
She had a brief and irrational urge to smash the vase and its contents on the stone floor and let Stark's precious robots pick up the pieces. After a breath, she reminded herself of what she so often told others: she was Russian; they tended not to cry over the cards they had been dealt, but simply played on through until the next round.
The cards this time were quite impressive.
The method behind the messages was moronically simple, and she had been using it for years. She had set locations for which potential employers to contact her. A white rose meant there was a job offer on the line. A black rose meant she had been made and/or that her services were no longer necessary. This many black roses in this many locations? Her services were likely on permanent hiatus.
She had worked near exclusively with SHIELD since shortly after Barton had brought her in, picking up the rare extraneous job here and there as she happened across them. Fury did not mind so long as said job or jobs did not directly counter her work with SHIELD or put anyone from SHIELD at risk. It had the added bonus of keeping her skill set sharp and her contact network active.
That network would now be as good as closed, and that was if some of those contacts did not actively try to shut down more than just the communication aspect of their relationship. There was a fairly good chance that one or more of her former employers had a hit out on her right now. There was also a fairly good chance said hit would occur in the middle of a SHIELD or Avengers sponsored mission. She would have to warn the others as their lives may well be at risk as well as her own.
Not right now though.
Right now, they needed a night to relax and come down from their latest success. They needed a night of good food, good drink, and, hopefully, good company. If she told them now, they would be up in arms instantly, wanting to patrol, wanting to analyze everyone and everything she had ever done to find a link, to find a crack, and attack.
The fact the flowers were sent to the tower, to her home, was a message in and of itself. They knew where she lived. They knew where she had become complacent enough to let her guard down. They knew of a vulnerability to exploit.
There was a chance the flowers were a warning from a colleague, meant to be expressed on good terms. A farewell letter, so to speak. The bow, the knot-work on it, hinted at this. She had grown far too cynical in life to truly believe it though.
Armed with the history of a minor delay before any out and out attacks, she found that she had at least three options. She could tell the team now and ruin their night off but at least allow them the knowledge of a pending attack. She could also watch over them tonight and tell them in the morning, granting them solace for a moment yet also giving them time to get ready. They would be annoyed for a brief period of time, but get over it to focus on the task at hand. The final option, and the one her instincts screamed at her was for the best, was to watch over them tonight and take off in the morning, draw the battle away from them but leave them a message of some sort to let them know they may still be at risk.
She mulled these possibilities over as she stripped off her uniform and rinsed off the worst of the battle. When it came time to dress again, she could not settle for just the leggings and t-shirt she usually wore to the post-mission celebrations. Cargo pants loaded with gear, boots with a knife on either side of each ankle seemed far more practical, though she would have preferred a gun of some sort directly on her person versus those hidden away in various compartments in the common room.
She joined the others to find Tony already had a shot of Reyka lined up for her. She tossed that back and motioned for another, for which he neatly obliged. When she repeated the process, she knew he figured something was up, as did Clint if his expression was anything to go by.
She rolled the glass that held her third shot between her hands as she leaned against the low counter and regarded her teammates one by one. Steve and Bruce were setting up the containers of takeaway, and Thor already had chopsticks in one hand and a beer before him. Clint held his drink loosely, forcibly relaxed, eyes glued to her every movement. Tony took a shot of something amber and raised his eyebrows, as subtle as he was likely to get.
She turned to him first. "Are the security protocols for the tower activated?" she asked. Her voice was level, unconcerned, and she saw his suspicions raise instead of lower as originally anticipated.
"Base level only," he confirmed, then shook his head. "Scratch that. Base level plus post-mission-likely-to-be-drunk levels only. I take it you want them increased."
She didn't nod, but she downed her shot and set the glass back on the counter. "There is a distinct possibility that a hit has been taken out on me," she told him calmly, uncaring by will alone. She had surprised herself by choosing to speak now after previously convincing herself she would grant them this night. She was not, however, surprised when the rest of the room erupted into chaos with her words.
Steve silenced the worst of it easily enough, but nothing was going to stop Clint from demanding, "What did they send you?" He was at her side, eyes darting everywhere, no doubt assessing her for preliminary damage, as though she would ever be that obvious. Then again, she had surprised herself once already this night, so perhaps nothing was in the realm of the impossible.
She reached for the pho noodles even though her stomach turned slightly, and said simply, "Roses. Black. An even dozen."
Clint whistled softly but backed down ever so slightly while Steve just looked confused. He did not get to voice that confusion though, as Tony beat him to it. "What? Is that some sort of spy code? Like 'the crow flies at midnight' or some shit?"
She nodded to Clint, who explained, "She's been made. That many, and it's as likely to be a threat as a farewell." That, of course, led to more questions, which he answered so she wouldn't have to, knowing her far too well at this point. She did confirm that this was not the first time she had come across the message, only the most vehement, earning her a glare for her troubles.
"And you thought what, that the best course of action was to get drunk?" Tony spat. He wiped a hand over his mouth as if the taste of his own bourbon had gone sour.
She rolled her eyes. "Three shots are not going to get me drunk," she assured him. She lifted chopsticks bedecked with noodles, but could not quite bring herself to eat them yet. "Think of them as a toast to retirement," she added with a shrug. "I am successfully out of the game and only have the parting gauntlet to pass before retiring peacefully to some abandoned field in the middle of nowhere." And, because she could only hold the noodles so long without looking ridiculous, she forced the bite into her mouth to chew and swallow. She could smell the spices, sharp and sweet, but tasted nothing as they went down.
The discussion devolved to whether or not they should notify SHIELD and who should have what watches and she listened with only half an ear, plotting out her own circumstances and survival. If she left now, she knew better than to think she would get her old life back. The pick up sites would be watched by both sides, as would any area known to be close to a safe house. It would have the benefit of drawing the fight out to open ground, but the detriment of sacrificing one or more safe havens to get the job done. If she stayed here, in the tower with the others, it would undoubtedly be the focal point of any attack, putting her teammates and friends at risk. Then again, the fact the package was sent here already labeled the tower as a likely hit whether she was to remain or not, a message more powerful and deadly than those already sent. If she stayed, she would at least have the chance to protect the others, knowing as she did of what was to come.
Either scenario had a likelihood of failure. Both scenarios granted her the chance to go down fighting, if at all, which is why they were the only two she was actively considering at this point.
She needed more information though, before she made up her mind. She had a few contacts left that were loyal and discreet and would take far more than the standard sum to betray her. If she hit them up first, she would have a better idea how many were coming and if the intent was to mock and belittle, or outright assassinate.
She would leave tonight, after their impromptu victory dinner turned planning session. She had slipped away under lockdown at SHIELD before and, if nothing else, it would prove her skills were not quite as rusty as originally thought. She would be back by tomorrow night at the latest, and close enough to return earlier should anything drastic happen in her absence.
Satisfied, she turned her full attention back to the conversation around her, finding them at the expected deliberation. She said just enough to get them started again, and pretended to nod along with their plans. Barton watched her across the table with a suspicious look in his eyes, but he was easy enough to lose in the streets of New York if need be, and he would be wired in to Tony and the others to ensure his own safety and what he believed to be hers.
She reached for the dumplings Bruce offered her and sipped at the tea Steve insisted she drink instead of her beloved Reyka, and thought of the life she was giving up and whether or not she would feel it when she cut it loose. She had already screwed up once tonight and it cost her one of her options, so she was going to have to be careful if she was going to do this on her own terms and not on the well-meaning but delusional ideals of her team. She might go down, but she was going to make damned sure they didn't go with her.
She woke in the morning cursing those same teammates' names. It turned out she felt nothing at all as they had the audacity to drug her food to make her pass out. Clint knew which compounds she was most susceptible to, Bruce and Steve gave her the actual items knowing she wouldn't suspect them, Thor likely carried her back up to her room where she now lay, and Tony managed the electronic locks that currently held her at bay.
She rather disliked them a little, even as she admired their ability to pull such a stunt.
The door to her bedroom wouldn't give under a swift kick, but it did under the power of a .45. She stormed outward, adding additional weaponry as she moved, and prepared to take on the next level of locks. If all else failed, there was a parachute hidden under the rhododendrons in her greenhouse she could use. Sloppy, but doable, and she was fairly certain she could get through the glass there, ballistic or not.
She was honestly surprised that no one waited for her elsewhere in the apartment, but not quite as surprised to find someone stupid enough to ring the chime to request entrance.
"Candygram," Stark's voice sounded through the speakers. She was going to kill him, really she was. Forget the whole protect her teammates and the tower, she was going to take him down first to teach the others that there was certain things one did not do, and drugging and moving an assassin with a hit out on her was at the top of that list. JARVIS should be able to sustain the tower and Pepper would run the company; it would work well for everyone, really.
She didn't open the door, but found she didn't need to. It slid open to reveal a Tony Stark that honestly appeared shocked she held a weapon on him, and she could hear Barton behind him muttering something that sounded like, "I wouldn't do that if I were... Too late. Hey, Nat, incoming!"
"Tell me why I should not shoot you here and now," she gritted out, gun held steady.
And he did the most ridiculous of things. He did not hold his arms up in surrender, or even his hands, instead he thrust them forward, a wilting object dangling from the left one while a key card swung from the right. "Because we have a job for you?" he tried with a wince. "I mean, that's how this works, right? It's what Clint said but, you know, it's Clint, but still, we thought we'd give it a try."
And her eyes finally narrowed on the object that she had already registered as not a threat, only to blink and refocus as she could not quite believe what she saw: a white rose, trimmed and neat and ready to bloom.
Behind him stood the rest of the team, and she found they each held the same in their hands, save for Thor who held a flower in one hand and his hammer in the other. Actually, all of them appeared armed, and she wasn't quite certain which gesture she appreciated more.
"We have a job for you, if you're willing to take it," Steve said after clearing his throat. He looked unsure, even a bit nervous, really. Perhaps the drugging had not been his idea, or perhaps he had not been told until after he handed her the food. Either that, or he was better at deception than first believed.
"More than one, really," Bruce chimed in.
"I don't know if you've heard of it yet, but there's this thing called the 'Avengers Initiative,'" Tony added, smirk in place but voice dry as ever. She noticed his eyes did not leave the barrel of her weapon when he spoke. "We'd kind of like to hire you for a mission or so, maybe even something on an indefinite basis. Definitely more than five, but, you know, it's a start."
"This is not a joke," Clint added before she could ask.
"Well, it is a little," Tony amended. Before she could even glare at their mockery though, he added, "But only in the sense that you would dare think that you didn't already belong to us."
"With us," Steve corrected with only a slight sigh.
"I know what I said," came the expected protest. Louder, and with a rare bit of seriousness, he asked, "So, what do you say?"
She was still pissed, but the small part of her that was impressed with their actions was growing. As a group, they had been capable of more than she originally anticipated, and she could definitely factor in this new skill set to more than a single plan of attack. She flipped the safety back on the .45 and replied, "I say that if you ever drug me like that again, a damaged door is the least of your worries."
Tony looked behind her where the splinters still lay scattered on the floor and winced. "I'd say fair enough, but what if it's for your own good?" he tried. "I mean, really, you've kinda already proven that might happen."
She ignored him, having made her threat and feeling no need to put limitations upon it. She tucked her gun into the waistband of the cargo pants she still wore, but did not move to let them in yet, a small part of her amused that her simple presence was enough to keep five armed men at bay. "Do I want to know why you had class five substances readily available and had no qualms using them on a supposed ally?" she asked as she crossed her arms.
Bruce answered first, a hint of a shy grin across his normally worried features. "You'd be surprised what else he has readily available here," he said, which rather explained the not quite sage and incense smell he had to him on more than a single occasion.
"And we had qualms," Steve assured her. "Every single one of us had major reservations," he insisted.
"But you did it anyway," she pointed out.
He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Barton, who looked ridiculous holding a delicate flower with such a pissed off expression on his face. "Were you going to run?" he asked, blunt and direct.
"I was going to check a few leads to analyze the seriousness of the situation," she allowed. She did not glare at him for knowing her so well; she was better trained than that.
"Were you going to check these leads alone, without telling us when you left or where you were going?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly to the side. A challenge, then.
This time she allowed herself the slight narrowing of her eyes before she replied, "There was no need to put others at risk without the full information available."
"We would not have had the full information, and may well have been put at risk anyway as we sought that information without guidance," Steve replied, and she wondered just how much energy they would have expended on the task, what risks they would have taken, and found she may have previously underestimated this in her earlier analysis given their current behavior.
"You were going to run," Clint told her, for this time it was definitely a statement and not a question. "You were going to run to draw them away and probably take down a shitload of them, but end up dying in some abandoned warehouse before we could find you, before we could save you."
"We would have followed by the way," Stark pointed out. "Track you down, avenge you, that sort of thing. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's kind of what we do."
She sighed and backed away from the door. She crossed to her kitchen and sat down heavily in one of the chairs, forgoing grace for exasperation. It was telling that there was a definite pause before anyone followed. It was telling that they followed at all.
"I was going to go check leads only," she insisted, still not certain why she was explaining herself to them, why she did not simply say enough to calm them down and make them trust her again so she could leave to do what needed to be done in peace. "If you came with, or were spotted tracking me, those leads would run. They would assume they were under attack, and word would get out that I had fully turned."
"Have you?" Bruce asked. At her questioning eyebrow, he cleared his throat and clarified, "Have you fully turned?" He even looked her in the eye. It was only for a second before he found something extremely interesting about the wood grain of the table, but it was there long enough for her to register and take notice.
"He's asking if you're with us, or with them," Tony said. He leaned up against the counter, and she did not miss the glare he gave the dark vase of flowers that still sat there.
And that was the question, wasn't it? She had been a spy for so long, relied on her contacts, her safety net, her knowledge that she could cut and run at a moment's notice and create a new life with guaranteed employment, guaranteed income and sustenance, no matter what else happened. She survived. She lived and fought and created again and again without worry for anyone else but herself. She could leave others high and dry should they betray her, should they not live up to her standards. She left them behind and spared them no second thought as she was too busy thinking of her own survival.
This team thing though, this was different. She ran, they followed. She buried herself, they dug her out. She pushed them away, they still came back for more. She could not just leave them behind. She could not just let them fend for themselves. She wanted them safe. They wanted the same thing for her. Given that they would apparently follow her into the fire instead of save themselves, maybe it was time she stayed away from the flames, or at least did not actively seek them out. Either that, or at least stick around to teach them a few survival skills before turning them loose on the world without her.
She picked up the white bloom Bruce had set upon the table when he sat down across from her. She rolled the stem between her fingers, felt the thorns threaten to bite, felt the smoothness of the structure beneath.
She looked up to the others and saw them waiting for her response, saw Clint relax when he saw the answer in her eyes. She lowered the flower back down to the lay across the wood and asked, "Well, gentlemen, shall we discuss my fee?"
That night, after confirming two hits, a fond farewell, and that Barton could take a man out with an arrow to the knee from a hundred yards in howling rainstorm if need be, she sat at that table once more and sipped something a little stronger than tea. Her life had changed, and she had yet to determine if it truly was for the better. Her safety net was gone, but something new was being created in its place. It was unsteady and unsure and a little rough around the edges, but was so far proving to be damned hard to break.
She wasn't exactly sure how hard she wanted to try to destroy it when it would be so much easier to shore it up instead.
She looked to her counter, to the black vase with a dozen black roses and to the simple clear glass with five white blooms beside it. She found her eyes drawn to one far more than the other.
She saluted them both with her glass and let the Reyka burn a warmth down her throat, fill her with something other than emotions and feelings that she rather did not wish to deal with. Not yet, anyway.
She left the glass on the table and picked her way over the shards of wood she had not yet bothered to clean or have the various bots take care of. When she reached the bed, she kicked off her boots and pulled up the covers, only three weapons tucked neatly to the side. It was enough, as she knew at least five more were ready and waiting should she need them.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Monochromatic
Genre: Gen, Team
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,000 words
Warnings: Mild language, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: Everything in her world comes down to black or white. Her teammates disagree.
Author's Notes: For the "loss of employment/income" square at
hc_bingo.Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available at AO3.
The single black rose left on the corner of Fifth and Elm was the first sign. The one left on Eighth and Fourteenth two cities away was another.
It wasn't that much of a surprise, not really. Most of her contacts had known for some time that she was not readily available, even if they did not always know just who it was that gave her such regular employment. She found it disconcerting that there was two such signs so close to each other, but she shook it off as coincidence as it had happened before and may well happen again.
Still, she checked the three closest known connection points just to make sure. And, not quite as expected, found three more of the dark blooms.
She wasn't panicking. She did not panic. Still, she knew well enough to believe that there was definitely something going on, something she needed to delve a bit deeper into to be able to fully figure out.
It was pushed to the side when a mission sprung up. Not just SHIELD, but Avengers-worthy even. The people she was reluctantly beginning to call "team" gathered around, analyzed the intel, and headed out, weapons at the ready.
They fought, they won, they returned covered in blood and gore and something Stark assured her was solely the equivalent of transmission fluid from one of the machines involved. He offered her use of one of the suites at Stark Tower to clean up, and she accepted. Never satisfied with an inch when he could take a mile, he then offered her permanent use of not just a suite, but of an entire floor of the building. She declined.
She let his driver take her back to SHIELD headquarters though, and he did not even blink when she suggested a way around a particularly annoying bit of traffic that seemed more convoluted than most. She gazed out the darkened window when he slowed at a turn, and sighed heavily when she saw yet another rose tied to the stop sign nearby.
Barton had, of course, jumped at the chance to live in Stark's less-than-little commune. The fact he had talked Rogers into it was truly impressive, but not as much as the feat of talking Banner into not only staying in the states, but in a heavily populated area for a decently long period of time. Thor accepted the rooms on a contingent basis, with that contingency being for the times he was both on Earth and not visiting that scientist of his in New Mexico.
That left her.
She figured when she walked into her relatively barren quarters to find two boxes and a handwritten note from Director Fury that stated simply, "For fuck's sake, go," that she had the closest thing to his blessing that she was going to get. She packed up her gear, signed the shipping manifest, and promptly analyzed the benefits of being to sneak away from SHIELD's watchful eyes against Stark's likelihood of tracking her every move.
Surprisingly, when he showed her her rooms, floor really as he had previously promised, he also showed her the known and obvious security areas and where and how she could deactivate what she did not want. She looked at him skeptically, but he simply shrugged and said, "I talked to Barton, he made me promise." And she certainly regretted not being part of that conversation, especially when he added, "And then Steve gave me those eyes that meant he was judging me, and you definitely do not want Captain Fricken America on your bad side."
That earned him a smile, and Rogers a thank you. She unpacked her few belongings and even ventured into what had been designated as the shared areas, where Clint quickly pounced to show her how to requisition preferred foods or other items and thoroughly abused the use of the word "awesome" in his descriptors.
As soon as she was able to, she snuck away. Not just from the tower, but from the country as a whole. She checked two of her safe houses, relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. She checked a dozen more contact points, and came up with a full bouquet.
She was called back before she could connect with any actual person, even though she found the message loud and clear and rather repetitive at this point. The team picked her up from Prague and did not even ask why she was there as they sped off to save the world once more.
It was two missions later, after successfully defeating a group that put AIM to shame with their incompetency, that she found herself actually looking forward to what was quickly becoming the group's post-mission ritual of takeout and vast quantities of booze for those who partook the vice. They returned to the tower to find that a package had arrived and the equivalent of the concierge had taken the liberty of holding it for her.
The box was large and a little unwieldy and she knew its contents without even opening it. Stark tech had already scanned it for incendiary devices, which meant Tony would be able to tell her what it was if he cared to look at the scan results, but she had at least three other teammates giddy on their recent victory offer her knives from various places on their person and, in Clint's case, tease that it was not fair to make them wait now that she had piqued their curiosity.
She begged off and took it to her rooms anyway. She gave the excuse that she - and they - needed to wash before dinner and, besides, the gift was for her and her alone. Barton pouted, but she knew him well enough to know he suspected something. More importantly, he knew her well enough to grant her privacy when she was so obviously requesting it.
The elevator ride was short, but the walk to the counter of her private kitchen seemed to take far longer than it truly should. She pulled one of her knives and made short work of the packaging revealing, as expected, a simple white florist's box underneath. Inside that box was a bouquet of roses, the petals as dark as the obsidian vase they rested in, a simple red ribbon tied around the rim. Her colors. Her message. She did not even look for a card to see who it was from, knowing there was no need.
She had a brief and irrational urge to smash the vase and its contents on the stone floor and let Stark's precious robots pick up the pieces. After a breath, she reminded herself of what she so often told others: she was Russian; they tended not to cry over the cards they had been dealt, but simply played on through until the next round.
The cards this time were quite impressive.
The method behind the messages was moronically simple, and she had been using it for years. She had set locations for which potential employers to contact her. A white rose meant there was a job offer on the line. A black rose meant she had been made and/or that her services were no longer necessary. This many black roses in this many locations? Her services were likely on permanent hiatus.
She had worked near exclusively with SHIELD since shortly after Barton had brought her in, picking up the rare extraneous job here and there as she happened across them. Fury did not mind so long as said job or jobs did not directly counter her work with SHIELD or put anyone from SHIELD at risk. It had the added bonus of keeping her skill set sharp and her contact network active.
That network would now be as good as closed, and that was if some of those contacts did not actively try to shut down more than just the communication aspect of their relationship. There was a fairly good chance that one or more of her former employers had a hit out on her right now. There was also a fairly good chance said hit would occur in the middle of a SHIELD or Avengers sponsored mission. She would have to warn the others as their lives may well be at risk as well as her own.
Not right now though.
Right now, they needed a night to relax and come down from their latest success. They needed a night of good food, good drink, and, hopefully, good company. If she told them now, they would be up in arms instantly, wanting to patrol, wanting to analyze everyone and everything she had ever done to find a link, to find a crack, and attack.
The fact the flowers were sent to the tower, to her home, was a message in and of itself. They knew where she lived. They knew where she had become complacent enough to let her guard down. They knew of a vulnerability to exploit.
There was a chance the flowers were a warning from a colleague, meant to be expressed on good terms. A farewell letter, so to speak. The bow, the knot-work on it, hinted at this. She had grown far too cynical in life to truly believe it though.
Armed with the history of a minor delay before any out and out attacks, she found that she had at least three options. She could tell the team now and ruin their night off but at least allow them the knowledge of a pending attack. She could also watch over them tonight and tell them in the morning, granting them solace for a moment yet also giving them time to get ready. They would be annoyed for a brief period of time, but get over it to focus on the task at hand. The final option, and the one her instincts screamed at her was for the best, was to watch over them tonight and take off in the morning, draw the battle away from them but leave them a message of some sort to let them know they may still be at risk.
She mulled these possibilities over as she stripped off her uniform and rinsed off the worst of the battle. When it came time to dress again, she could not settle for just the leggings and t-shirt she usually wore to the post-mission celebrations. Cargo pants loaded with gear, boots with a knife on either side of each ankle seemed far more practical, though she would have preferred a gun of some sort directly on her person versus those hidden away in various compartments in the common room.
She joined the others to find Tony already had a shot of Reyka lined up for her. She tossed that back and motioned for another, for which he neatly obliged. When she repeated the process, she knew he figured something was up, as did Clint if his expression was anything to go by.
She rolled the glass that held her third shot between her hands as she leaned against the low counter and regarded her teammates one by one. Steve and Bruce were setting up the containers of takeaway, and Thor already had chopsticks in one hand and a beer before him. Clint held his drink loosely, forcibly relaxed, eyes glued to her every movement. Tony took a shot of something amber and raised his eyebrows, as subtle as he was likely to get.
She turned to him first. "Are the security protocols for the tower activated?" she asked. Her voice was level, unconcerned, and she saw his suspicions raise instead of lower as originally anticipated.
"Base level only," he confirmed, then shook his head. "Scratch that. Base level plus post-mission-likely-to-be-drunk levels only. I take it you want them increased."
She didn't nod, but she downed her shot and set the glass back on the counter. "There is a distinct possibility that a hit has been taken out on me," she told him calmly, uncaring by will alone. She had surprised herself by choosing to speak now after previously convincing herself she would grant them this night. She was not, however, surprised when the rest of the room erupted into chaos with her words.
Steve silenced the worst of it easily enough, but nothing was going to stop Clint from demanding, "What did they send you?" He was at her side, eyes darting everywhere, no doubt assessing her for preliminary damage, as though she would ever be that obvious. Then again, she had surprised herself once already this night, so perhaps nothing was in the realm of the impossible.
She reached for the pho noodles even though her stomach turned slightly, and said simply, "Roses. Black. An even dozen."
Clint whistled softly but backed down ever so slightly while Steve just looked confused. He did not get to voice that confusion though, as Tony beat him to it. "What? Is that some sort of spy code? Like 'the crow flies at midnight' or some shit?"
She nodded to Clint, who explained, "She's been made. That many, and it's as likely to be a threat as a farewell." That, of course, led to more questions, which he answered so she wouldn't have to, knowing her far too well at this point. She did confirm that this was not the first time she had come across the message, only the most vehement, earning her a glare for her troubles.
"And you thought what, that the best course of action was to get drunk?" Tony spat. He wiped a hand over his mouth as if the taste of his own bourbon had gone sour.
She rolled her eyes. "Three shots are not going to get me drunk," she assured him. She lifted chopsticks bedecked with noodles, but could not quite bring herself to eat them yet. "Think of them as a toast to retirement," she added with a shrug. "I am successfully out of the game and only have the parting gauntlet to pass before retiring peacefully to some abandoned field in the middle of nowhere." And, because she could only hold the noodles so long without looking ridiculous, she forced the bite into her mouth to chew and swallow. She could smell the spices, sharp and sweet, but tasted nothing as they went down.
The discussion devolved to whether or not they should notify SHIELD and who should have what watches and she listened with only half an ear, plotting out her own circumstances and survival. If she left now, she knew better than to think she would get her old life back. The pick up sites would be watched by both sides, as would any area known to be close to a safe house. It would have the benefit of drawing the fight out to open ground, but the detriment of sacrificing one or more safe havens to get the job done. If she stayed here, in the tower with the others, it would undoubtedly be the focal point of any attack, putting her teammates and friends at risk. Then again, the fact the package was sent here already labeled the tower as a likely hit whether she was to remain or not, a message more powerful and deadly than those already sent. If she stayed, she would at least have the chance to protect the others, knowing as she did of what was to come.
Either scenario had a likelihood of failure. Both scenarios granted her the chance to go down fighting, if at all, which is why they were the only two she was actively considering at this point.
She needed more information though, before she made up her mind. She had a few contacts left that were loyal and discreet and would take far more than the standard sum to betray her. If she hit them up first, she would have a better idea how many were coming and if the intent was to mock and belittle, or outright assassinate.
She would leave tonight, after their impromptu victory dinner turned planning session. She had slipped away under lockdown at SHIELD before and, if nothing else, it would prove her skills were not quite as rusty as originally thought. She would be back by tomorrow night at the latest, and close enough to return earlier should anything drastic happen in her absence.
Satisfied, she turned her full attention back to the conversation around her, finding them at the expected deliberation. She said just enough to get them started again, and pretended to nod along with their plans. Barton watched her across the table with a suspicious look in his eyes, but he was easy enough to lose in the streets of New York if need be, and he would be wired in to Tony and the others to ensure his own safety and what he believed to be hers.
She reached for the dumplings Bruce offered her and sipped at the tea Steve insisted she drink instead of her beloved Reyka, and thought of the life she was giving up and whether or not she would feel it when she cut it loose. She had already screwed up once tonight and it cost her one of her options, so she was going to have to be careful if she was going to do this on her own terms and not on the well-meaning but delusional ideals of her team. She might go down, but she was going to make damned sure they didn't go with her.
She woke in the morning cursing those same teammates' names. It turned out she felt nothing at all as they had the audacity to drug her food to make her pass out. Clint knew which compounds she was most susceptible to, Bruce and Steve gave her the actual items knowing she wouldn't suspect them, Thor likely carried her back up to her room where she now lay, and Tony managed the electronic locks that currently held her at bay.
She rather disliked them a little, even as she admired their ability to pull such a stunt.
The door to her bedroom wouldn't give under a swift kick, but it did under the power of a .45. She stormed outward, adding additional weaponry as she moved, and prepared to take on the next level of locks. If all else failed, there was a parachute hidden under the rhododendrons in her greenhouse she could use. Sloppy, but doable, and she was fairly certain she could get through the glass there, ballistic or not.
She was honestly surprised that no one waited for her elsewhere in the apartment, but not quite as surprised to find someone stupid enough to ring the chime to request entrance.
"Candygram," Stark's voice sounded through the speakers. She was going to kill him, really she was. Forget the whole protect her teammates and the tower, she was going to take him down first to teach the others that there was certain things one did not do, and drugging and moving an assassin with a hit out on her was at the top of that list. JARVIS should be able to sustain the tower and Pepper would run the company; it would work well for everyone, really.
She didn't open the door, but found she didn't need to. It slid open to reveal a Tony Stark that honestly appeared shocked she held a weapon on him, and she could hear Barton behind him muttering something that sounded like, "I wouldn't do that if I were... Too late. Hey, Nat, incoming!"
"Tell me why I should not shoot you here and now," she gritted out, gun held steady.
And he did the most ridiculous of things. He did not hold his arms up in surrender, or even his hands, instead he thrust them forward, a wilting object dangling from the left one while a key card swung from the right. "Because we have a job for you?" he tried with a wince. "I mean, that's how this works, right? It's what Clint said but, you know, it's Clint, but still, we thought we'd give it a try."
And her eyes finally narrowed on the object that she had already registered as not a threat, only to blink and refocus as she could not quite believe what she saw: a white rose, trimmed and neat and ready to bloom.
Behind him stood the rest of the team, and she found they each held the same in their hands, save for Thor who held a flower in one hand and his hammer in the other. Actually, all of them appeared armed, and she wasn't quite certain which gesture she appreciated more.
"We have a job for you, if you're willing to take it," Steve said after clearing his throat. He looked unsure, even a bit nervous, really. Perhaps the drugging had not been his idea, or perhaps he had not been told until after he handed her the food. Either that, or he was better at deception than first believed.
"More than one, really," Bruce chimed in.
"I don't know if you've heard of it yet, but there's this thing called the 'Avengers Initiative,'" Tony added, smirk in place but voice dry as ever. She noticed his eyes did not leave the barrel of her weapon when he spoke. "We'd kind of like to hire you for a mission or so, maybe even something on an indefinite basis. Definitely more than five, but, you know, it's a start."
"This is not a joke," Clint added before she could ask.
"Well, it is a little," Tony amended. Before she could even glare at their mockery though, he added, "But only in the sense that you would dare think that you didn't already belong to us."
"With us," Steve corrected with only a slight sigh.
"I know what I said," came the expected protest. Louder, and with a rare bit of seriousness, he asked, "So, what do you say?"
She was still pissed, but the small part of her that was impressed with their actions was growing. As a group, they had been capable of more than she originally anticipated, and she could definitely factor in this new skill set to more than a single plan of attack. She flipped the safety back on the .45 and replied, "I say that if you ever drug me like that again, a damaged door is the least of your worries."
Tony looked behind her where the splinters still lay scattered on the floor and winced. "I'd say fair enough, but what if it's for your own good?" he tried. "I mean, really, you've kinda already proven that might happen."
She ignored him, having made her threat and feeling no need to put limitations upon it. She tucked her gun into the waistband of the cargo pants she still wore, but did not move to let them in yet, a small part of her amused that her simple presence was enough to keep five armed men at bay. "Do I want to know why you had class five substances readily available and had no qualms using them on a supposed ally?" she asked as she crossed her arms.
Bruce answered first, a hint of a shy grin across his normally worried features. "You'd be surprised what else he has readily available here," he said, which rather explained the not quite sage and incense smell he had to him on more than a single occasion.
"And we had qualms," Steve assured her. "Every single one of us had major reservations," he insisted.
"But you did it anyway," she pointed out.
He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Barton, who looked ridiculous holding a delicate flower with such a pissed off expression on his face. "Were you going to run?" he asked, blunt and direct.
"I was going to check a few leads to analyze the seriousness of the situation," she allowed. She did not glare at him for knowing her so well; she was better trained than that.
"Were you going to check these leads alone, without telling us when you left or where you were going?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly to the side. A challenge, then.
This time she allowed herself the slight narrowing of her eyes before she replied, "There was no need to put others at risk without the full information available."
"We would not have had the full information, and may well have been put at risk anyway as we sought that information without guidance," Steve replied, and she wondered just how much energy they would have expended on the task, what risks they would have taken, and found she may have previously underestimated this in her earlier analysis given their current behavior.
"You were going to run," Clint told her, for this time it was definitely a statement and not a question. "You were going to run to draw them away and probably take down a shitload of them, but end up dying in some abandoned warehouse before we could find you, before we could save you."
"We would have followed by the way," Stark pointed out. "Track you down, avenge you, that sort of thing. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's kind of what we do."
She sighed and backed away from the door. She crossed to her kitchen and sat down heavily in one of the chairs, forgoing grace for exasperation. It was telling that there was a definite pause before anyone followed. It was telling that they followed at all.
"I was going to go check leads only," she insisted, still not certain why she was explaining herself to them, why she did not simply say enough to calm them down and make them trust her again so she could leave to do what needed to be done in peace. "If you came with, or were spotted tracking me, those leads would run. They would assume they were under attack, and word would get out that I had fully turned."
"Have you?" Bruce asked. At her questioning eyebrow, he cleared his throat and clarified, "Have you fully turned?" He even looked her in the eye. It was only for a second before he found something extremely interesting about the wood grain of the table, but it was there long enough for her to register and take notice.
"He's asking if you're with us, or with them," Tony said. He leaned up against the counter, and she did not miss the glare he gave the dark vase of flowers that still sat there.
And that was the question, wasn't it? She had been a spy for so long, relied on her contacts, her safety net, her knowledge that she could cut and run at a moment's notice and create a new life with guaranteed employment, guaranteed income and sustenance, no matter what else happened. She survived. She lived and fought and created again and again without worry for anyone else but herself. She could leave others high and dry should they betray her, should they not live up to her standards. She left them behind and spared them no second thought as she was too busy thinking of her own survival.
This team thing though, this was different. She ran, they followed. She buried herself, they dug her out. She pushed them away, they still came back for more. She could not just leave them behind. She could not just let them fend for themselves. She wanted them safe. They wanted the same thing for her. Given that they would apparently follow her into the fire instead of save themselves, maybe it was time she stayed away from the flames, or at least did not actively seek them out. Either that, or at least stick around to teach them a few survival skills before turning them loose on the world without her.
She picked up the white bloom Bruce had set upon the table when he sat down across from her. She rolled the stem between her fingers, felt the thorns threaten to bite, felt the smoothness of the structure beneath.
She looked up to the others and saw them waiting for her response, saw Clint relax when he saw the answer in her eyes. She lowered the flower back down to the lay across the wood and asked, "Well, gentlemen, shall we discuss my fee?"
That night, after confirming two hits, a fond farewell, and that Barton could take a man out with an arrow to the knee from a hundred yards in howling rainstorm if need be, she sat at that table once more and sipped something a little stronger than tea. Her life had changed, and she had yet to determine if it truly was for the better. Her safety net was gone, but something new was being created in its place. It was unsteady and unsure and a little rough around the edges, but was so far proving to be damned hard to break.
She wasn't exactly sure how hard she wanted to try to destroy it when it would be so much easier to shore it up instead.
She looked to her counter, to the black vase with a dozen black roses and to the simple clear glass with five white blooms beside it. She found her eyes drawn to one far more than the other.
She saluted them both with her glass and let the Reyka burn a warmth down her throat, fill her with something other than emotions and feelings that she rather did not wish to deal with. Not yet, anyway.
She left the glass on the table and picked her way over the shards of wood she had not yet bothered to clean or have the various bots take care of. When she reached the bed, she kicked off her boots and pulled up the covers, only three weapons tucked neatly to the side. It was enough, as she knew at least five more were ready and waiting should she need them.
End.
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