The Contract

1: At Dragon's Edge

A/N: No, I haven't gone crazy. Couldn't resist doing a 'hitman' AU-because I can just see our hero as an embittered marksman with a dark past and a burning need for revenge. There will definitely be some romance in here (eventually). I've rated it M because I'm a little cautious about the level of violence that may creep in. Updates are planned to be weekly but we shall see.

As ever: Disclaimer-I don't own How To train your Dragon. Rights remain with Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

One: At Dragon's Edge

The sign over the dilapidated bar was flickering irregularly and the sickly yellow 'N' was blinking in and out, changing the name of the bar to 'the Drago's Edge'. Special Agent Astrid Hofferson peered up at the garish letters and sighed. Dragon's Edge Bar was in the worst end of the town of Berk, with narrow streets, few lights and absolutely no police patrols. Everyone knew the place was a byword for trouble, the refuge of the worst of the worst, scum who would be kicked out of other troublesome bars for being too bad even for them. No self-respecting law enforcement officer would be seen within four hundred yards of the place and Astrid knew she certainly wasn't welcome here. Except it was the only place their target was known to frequent so it was literally their only chance to find him.

She sighed and stepped towards the peeling door, casting an irritated glance at her two companions, hanging back in the shadowy alley. The stench of rotting trash wafted on the cold breeze as they warily walked forward.

"Any time today, mutton-heads!" she hissed, glaring at them as they sheepishly wandered forward. As mission leader, she had her choice of agents though these were the only two available, meaning it wasn't so much a choice but an exercise in stopping Snotlout imagining she had chosen him for his looks rather than his largely-limited skills. Speaking of which, Snotlout Jorgensen was a stocky young man, with a broad face, blue eyes and black hair, his buff shape swaggering forward. His inflated opinion of himself was an irritation to the serious and accomplished special agent. His companion, Fishlegs Ingerman, was taller and much more husky, though the blonde man with the roundish face and blue-green eyes moved with much less confidence. He was gentle and studious by nature, an analytical and observant man who was better suited to the surveillance suite than the field.

She rolled her eyes at her team and then turned back to the door, walking confidently in, eyes flicking over the inhabitants of the bar. The noise level dropped appreciably as she entered, for a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed woman entering any bar would catch the eye. Astrid ignored the covetous eyes indecently sweeping over her lithe frame and walked confidently in, flicking her blonde braid over her left shoulder. Dressed functionally in jeans, blouse, leather jacket and boots, she walked confidently forward to the bar, her eyes locked on the big bartender, who was wiping a glass casually. She smiled and laid her hands flat on the bar.

"Bourbon, straight up," she said firmly and he nodded, his blue eyes critically appraising her. He was a big man, tending to fat round his middle and was missing a hand, replaced by a very old-fashioned hook. His bald head was covered with a 'Vikings' cap and his long blonde moustache was braided extravagantly, swinging as he moved.

"Here yer are, lass," he said in a broad Scottish brogue. "Yer a little out o' yuir neighbourhood, I'm guessing." She nodded and smiled, sipping the bourbon. It tasted like metal polish but she managed to swallow it with a grimace. "How's the whiskey, lass?"

"It's...good..." she choked, slamming the shot glass on the bar. "Got anything...smoother?" The barman relented and reached under the bar for a twelve year old single malt from the Highlands and poured her a proper measure.

"Yer've got guts, lass," he complimented her. "Are yuir friends here tae make meh bar look untidy or are they here tae drink as well?" She glanced over her shoulder and scowled at them. Reluctantly, they came forward and accepted glasses of the house bourbon. The stocky man managed to swallow it though the husky man coughed and almost choked.