Winter Widow One Shots

Specific Enough?

"We have five people trying kill us now. Any suggestions?"

Natalia's green eyes locked onto his as they crouched behind a rusting dumpster. The bricks of the buildings were covered by graffiti from years passed, debris littered the concrete below them. The smell of rotting waste assaulted their senses. But they couldn't complain, in the narrow alley way there were few places to take cover, and they would take rancid smells over a bullet any day.

"I counted eight." James said, voice low, but edged with a slight humor.

"Oh I'm sorry, was I not specific enough for you?" Natalia snapped, peeking over the side of the can. Her tone was sharper than usual, but with the tension growing around them no one could blame her. 

He didn't respond, likely for the best.

Her Glock 19 was raised, steady despite the danger pressing in on them. She had been trained to remain steady no matter the situation. Her black tactical suit was torn on the right shoulder, and the left knee was wearing thin. The reinforced Kevlar sliced in places that shouldn't have been possible, unless you were dealing with upgraded technology from AIM agents.

James couldn't say he was in any better shape. His thigh burned, reminding him of the bullet that had grazed his skin, tearing through his favorite pair of pants. The sleeve of his jacket had shredded at the elbow from a less than graceful rooftop landing. His right knee was still aching from that same fall. He was sure by now a rainbow of bruises was developing across both their bodies.

They looked like hell. They felt worse. All they had left were smelly clothes, protein bars, and each other. What he wouldn't do for a good steak right now. But they'd seen worse. And if they continued with their careers he was certain this wouldn't even make the top 10 of their worst missions. 

Their comms had been fried on day one, courtesy of AIM's newest toy. The plasma cannon had lit up their transport like it was the Fourth of July. Since then, every route they tried was a dead end or trap. They'd wound through the city a dozen times, finding no escape. Yet.

"There's no other exit option," Natalia muttered, her voice taut with frustration. She watched a yellow-clad soldier stalk past the alley mouth. "Rooftops or head-on? Your call."

"Why is it always my choice?" 

He checked his SIG P226. Seven bullets. Maybe a couple more tucked into his belt pouches if he was lucky. Not enough for a shootout. Natalia's Widow's Bites had fried up yesterday, and she had to be running low on bullets by now too. They had tried to use AIM's own weapons, but they had implemented new DNA technology preventing any unauthorized users from firing their weapons. Given the right conditions James or Natalia could have found a way to override it. But they hardly had time to stay stationary.

"So that if it's the wrong choice I can blame you." She turned back to him and gave him a wink, filled equally with reassurance and flirtation.

"I hate you."  He muttered as he slid the gun back into the holster. He should have brought another gun, or five. 

"No you don't"

"No. I don't." 

He cracked a tired smile, and for second she almost did too. But a crack near the entrance to the alleyway silenced them both. She narrowed his eyes at him as if to tell him to be quiet. As if he needed reminding. 

They waited in silence for several minutes. Waiting for anything. To their relief there was nothing.

James nodded to the fire escape bolted to the wall on his left. "Didn't work the first two times, but I hear third time is a charm."

She moved first, silently. She moved gracefully despite her injuries. James watched until she signaled from above, then followed. The metal rungs groaned under his weight—loud in the still alley. He winced at each echo but made it to the rooftop, hauling himself up to lie beside her. 

"See not so bad right?" He whispered. "At least we got up this time."

She rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a light punch. He caught her hand before she could pulled it away, fingers tightening around hers for a moment king than necessary.

"Not the time James." She whispered, her eyes darting from his lips to his eyes before she tried to pull away. 

"You sure about that?" 

He leaned in, resting his forehead on hers.

"We've got five people tracking us and trying to kill us." she muttered, but she didn't move away. 

"Eight." he corrected softly—and kissed her. Quick, fierce, and full of everything they hadn't said out loud. "Besides, if they are going to kill me I don't want to have any regrets."

She laughed softly, and he pushed his hand to her lips a smirk on his own face. She rolled her eyes and pulled his fingers away. 

"I am about ten times quieter than you Barnes." 

Despite the joking she smiled as she began laying items out to take inventory. Despite herself, she grinned and began unloading their remaining supplies onto the rooftop gravel. Two Glock-19s, two dead batons, and nine lonely bullets clinked against the surface.

"Any in the guns?"

James raised an eyebrow and started unloading too. His P226 went down next to her Glocks. One spare, but empty, mag. Then came the blades: his Gerber Mark II, his Yari II, and the Benchmaker. Blades weren't ideal against rifles, but it was something.

Natalia rummaged through the small sling bag they'd been trading off carrying. Out came a half-full canteen, a few protein bars, a travel bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a single clean bandage.

"Not much left," she said, checking the P226's mag.

"We've survived worse." James said. "We will survive this too."

She gave him a quiet nod. They had survived worse, frozen tundras of Russia, starving in the congo, Paris when Natalia got hit with a paralytic, even the Red Room. Compared to those. This was just a Tuesday afternoon. Or maybe it was Wednesday.

"On the roof! I saw something!" 

The shout cracked the air like lightning.

They scrambled, weapons  and supplies flew back into the bag. James grabbed the Benchmaker, fingers cracking as they tightened around the handle. They bolted toward the opposite ledge. Fifteen feet to the next rood. A decent run up would do it. 

James took the bag from her, and she backed up. She sprinted across the rooftop, just as a yellow helmet crested their escape ladder. James didn't hesitate. He fired and the man fell with a grunt, knocking the man below him off balance. 

Natalia leapt. James held his breath until she rolled cleanly onto the other rooftop. Once he saw he land safely he backed up, ready to retrace her steps. Just as he hit full speed he felt the jolt. 

Electric agony exploded down his spine. His muscles locked. His vision blurring. He hit the rooftop like a stone, twitching and gasping. 

"James!" 

Her voice sliced through the fog. 

"We got him!"

The world tilted, as he forced himself up. Teeth clenched through the lingering shock. Nine shots echoed around him. Her last nine bullets.

"Nat run!" he rasped, reaching for his MK II. "I'll hold them—just go!"

She could get away, she could get help. Or at least survive. That was all that mattered. That she survived. What happened to him didn't matter. 

He gripped the knife in his left hand, watching the men coming up the ladder. Three. Better than eight. They moved towards him together, weapons drawn. A heavy slam beside him told him she didn't listen to him.

"Told you to run." 

"How stupid do you think I am?" She was beside him, baton gripped like a sword. Bloody. Determined. Even with out it's electroshock capabilities, in her hands it was a deadly weapon.

He didn't have time to laugh before the first enemy lunged. James twisted and threw the knife. It sank deep. One down.

The second was already on him. They grappled. James slammed a fist into his gut. The guy dropped—but swept James' legs. He hit the roof hard, breath knocked out.

The third was almost on him—until Natalia's baton cracked into his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. She stood behind the man, baton bloody in her hands.

James exhaled, groaning. "What would I do without you?"

"Probably be dead a dozen times over."

Her laugh—short, sweet—was everything.

"So we're down to five?"

"I don't think it's only eight after us now. I took down five before I jumped." She muttered. 

"Let's call it four then. I think there's an apartment complex down the road, if we are lucky someone there left a phone behind, or something we can highjack." 

"Your turn to choose which way," he said, standing. "That way I get to blame you when I get electrocuted again."

She flipped her hair and sprinted toward the next gap without answering.

He followed.

They'd be fine.

They always were.