Chapter Text
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Chapter 1
{The Game}
Being a subversive operative and melee combatant was never an easy game, but it was fun. Lights reflected in the sparkling fountains of champagne in the middle of the grand ball room, intoxicating and intense. She had a mission to complete. Dressed in black velvet dress, revealing flawless skin and with her long scarlet hair cascading off her back, Natasha leaned her lithe form against the railing. She was fully armed with guns strapped to her shapely thighs. A combat knife was in her beaded handbag with a vial of black widow venom. She was prepared. There was a rare and foreign sense rippling in her veins; there was a emptiness inside her. Fractured emotions and detachment had become a way of survival of the infamous Soviet spy.
Feeling uneasy, Natasha removed the mobile device from her purse, reading Fury's text to engage with caution and complete the mission. Project: Test Run. It was supposed to simple and effective observation with false information authorized by Fury of a missile threat and the allegiance with ex KBG officers who supposedly went off the grid after the STRIKE team raid remote safe houses. She had to play it cool, share no secrets and keep her emotions in check.
Silently, Natasha observed, taking a delicate sip of champagne while pretending to translate the conversation between an older gray haired man and a woman sitting at the across from her position. Pressing the comm lodged in her ear, Natasha spoke in her low husky voice to her partner. "No sighting of him yet. I don't know if Fury is playing with us, Clint. Keep a sharp eyes on parking garage. Look for the motorcycle. I'll engage in more causal method of infiltration."
"I know that voice tone, to well, Natasha," Clint returned with a hint snark in his voice. He was crouched down on ledge adjacent from the casino. His automatic bow slung over his shoulder, and gray eyes focused on the parked vehicles surrounding the main entrance. "No sign of the bike. I'll scan the garage. If is he here, I will let you know, and by the way, love the dress. Did Stark's bank account pay for that?"
A shadow of a smirk twisted over Natasha's lips, "Focus, Barton," she said in a teasing voice. "I didn't come here to be distracted... We have t handle this like any other mission." She stole glance at the elevator. "Are the others in-" She paused in the second her green eyes became transfixed on him. Steven Grant Rogers. Her breath clogged in her throat as she felt a shuddering chill of anticipation creep down her spine. His timing was unexpected. How did he manage to elude Clint's hawk-like gaze. It was obvious, the captain was a natural at infiltration and able to blend well in unfamiliar elements. "Clint," she pressed the comm, "I' think our another dancer partner arrive early for the party." There was no response. Irritated. Natasha took a large swig, and turned around, pretending that she hadn't seen him. "If I find out you set this up behind my back..."
"Relax, Nat." Clint replied through the comm. "It was the Fury's idea to send Rogers early. Give the guy a break; Steve's Captain America, after all."
"Unacceptable." Natasha stiffened her lips. "This was supposed to follow all the details. I still think it's bad idea. We're not team players." She seethed, trying to remain calm. "One mistake will jeopardize this whole operation. Rogers is a soldier not a spy." She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, feeling her ample breasts tense against the cold metal of her silencer pistol that she had stuffed under her bra.
"He doesn't even carry a gun..." He was closing in on her space. His two-hundred and forty pound body was dressed in a black tux. Well-define muscles of his torso and abdomen rippling with enhance strength under a pressed white shirt. His mussed blonde hair spiked at the hairline. And she became fixed on his light azure eyes gentle and yet intense as he walked over to the railing. "No, I'm not risking my free time just to babysit America's golden boy because Fury wanted to test my partnership with Steve. I agreed to conduct every order he debriefed to us, but now that I figured out we were deceived by a man who not only defeated HYDRA but also woke up from a ice bath-"
"Agent Romanoff," Steve interupted with a firm voice. A tentative grin stretched over his full lips. His broad jaw clenched as he leaned the powerful bulk of his tall frame against the railing. "I received orders from Agent Hill that you were need in of assistance."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Listen, Rogers. This is my mission." she declared in a strict false tone. "You have no knowledge on the details that Fury sent me and you're unarmed." She wanted to test his reaction. "I'm guessing you have that shield of yours close at hand..."
Steve seemed taken aback from the bite in her voice. "You don't need a gun to take down target, Agent Romanoff." he spoke in defense. Natasha tightened her jaw, resisting the urge to look into his blue eyes. "I have received the information from Director Fury and I'm not here to impose on your objective, but I am here to protect you."
Unprepared. Clueless. Distraction. "The way I see it, you're out of experience in this class level field of work. You're not an agent of SHIELD." She shot back, taking another sip from the glass, enjoying the assessment with a bit of malevolence fizzing in her veins. It was a fun game to play. "I don't need another partner to watch my back. I have Agent Barton." She had gotten accustomed to having a partner-Clint was her shadow. No one...Not even Captain America would replace that bond they shared. "We handle things differently under Fury's orders, Captain Rogers."
Steve nodded in response, "Understood." He narrowed his eyes, and sighed with a smudge of disappointment on his smooth features. "I guess I'll sit at a table and wait until you need me."
Natasha didn't even spare him a glance, and was just about to move away from she caught a visual of two SHIELD agents dressed as HYDRA operatives climbing up the stairway holding duffle bags. A moment of stillness gave her enough time to recollect the mission. She had to pretend there was a threat. Manipulate Steve into following her lead. She leaned up to him very closely, leveling her stare petulantly at him. Green locked with blue. "You're needed now," she whispered, trying to keep a straight face, hoping that the security cameras would catch her little performance. "Put your arms around my shoulders and kiss me..."
"Kiss you?" Steve nearly choked, flustered. His mouth fell open, dumbfounded. "I'm not going to kiss you, Agent Romanoff. This is a mission. Not a date."
"Well, tonight we'll make exceptions." she replied in a brazen tone, pressing against his hard chest, tilting her head a little, as she gave brushed her lips over the corner of his mouth. She expected a war of tension to arise between them but as she felt his defiant posture slouch under her palms. He looked down at with his blue eyes clouding over with distant memories, almost like he was uncertain and holding a promise.
He was hesitant to compromise.
"Come on, Rogers. This is all a part of the game. You're either in or out?" Natasha implored slowly, her eyes focused on the agents. There was a mixture of fire and ice in her impatient voice, as her lips caressed soothingly over his neck. "When I count to three, you kiss me, and then I pull away, bump into one of those guys over there and then you take them out."
Steve gulped down, a little timid as he felt entrapped into her dangerous allure. "I take it you must do this a lot with Agent Barton?" he grinned, sheepishly.
"If it prevents the mission from going sour, yes. Now, shut up and kiss me, Rogers." she growled, lowly, feeling the raw power of his muscles flex as he dipped his head down and crushed and joined his lips with hers. Steve closed his eyes as the taste of champagne melted and his breath hitched against the feverish suction of fierce hunger. She devoured without taking mercy on him. Stole his breath and took his pulse as she bruised lips stroked over the smooth chiseled skin of jaw.
It was a necessary distraction.
After giving him one last wet embrace of a kiss, Natasha ripped her mouth away and put on the act of being drunk. Within seconds, just has she planned, her shoulder collided into the one of agent's shoulder and she spoke what seemed like an apology in smoky Russian while signaling Steve to infiltrate. He did in a heart beat. He charged directly into action, fist rammed into the jaw of the shortest of the men, and Natasha Natasha slipped her hand into the straps of the bags, vanishing into the shadows of the hallway.
Inhaling the lingering scent of cherry, Steve quickly bashed the operative's heads together and threw hem down the stairs, watching them roll and crumple to a defeat pile at the bottom steps. "Natasha?" he called out, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.
Natasha headed to the elevator, and pressed the comm. "Mission accomplished, Clint." She traced her finger over her smirking lips, still tasting the kiss. "Rogers, has what it takes to be an effective agent of SHIELD. Send Fury the message that the captain passed his first test. Next time, I won't make it easy for him."
Grinning darkly, she unzipped one of the bags, and looked at the wrinkled Iron Man shirts stuffed inside. "Not bad, Rogers."