Frost In Fire | S.Rogers

✪ CHAPTER ONE ✪

"Darkness gonna break your light, No prayer gonna part my thunder."
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Chapter 1: Going Solo.

Natasha Romanoff hated these types of missions.

They always ended with her suits bloody, and having to explain to her curious five year old why his Mummy always came home with someone else's guts spilled over it.

"Clint." She hissed, kicking the back of his knee, making him lose his balance where he was crouching down. Said Agent yelped, turning around to glare at the Agent responsible.

"What?" He hissed back, pushing her foot back away from himself.

"Do we even have to be here?"

She hated crouching, it cramped her calves.

"Yes! You've got your orders from Fury-"

"Oh don't start with that bull-"

The leading operative of the mission turned around from where he was spying on the single cabin in the middle of the Sahara dessert. He wiped some sweat off his brow with the make-shift turban-like article of clothing he had made with his leather jacket. His face was already very pink, and his goggle left very prominent tan lines on his face when he removed them.

Natasha wondered if he could turn her hair shade of red, wondered if it was worth making a bet on.

She studied him, cocking her head, green eyes gleaming as she thought.

"Agent Romanoff, if you keep staring at me the way you are, you'll be used as bait in the Nile." Snapped the Agent.

"Yeah, good luck explaining to my Son that." She snapped back.

The man's face soured like milk, and his face flared up, making Natasha regret not making that deal.

"Sorry Boss," Clint interjected, clamping a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in warning, "It's the heat. Red-heads and all that, y' know?"

The leader grunted, mouth still down-turned. Natasha smiled sweetly at him till he did, and then grabbed Clint's pinkie, yanking it down, enjoying the wince on his face.

"I'll show you what a 'Red-head' can do next time you say that." She spoke, fluttering her lashes at him.

Clint grunted, snatching his hand back from her.

Readjusting her spaghetti straps, she peeled the sticky vest off her abdomen, enjoying the cool wind that kissed the sore muscles on her stomach.

She never liked these missions in the warmer climates; the feel of sweat sticking to her nape and the idea of no access to a warm shower to wash the peeling skin off had always made her shudder with disgust.

She preferred the colder climates, the ones of Russia she was used to, the landscape she had mostly been trained in.

She let out a long, overexaggerated sigh, purposely trying to annoy the obnoxious leader.

Clint shot her a warning look, knowing what she was trying to achieve, but she ignored him, sighing again.

The leader turned around, and Natasha felt a small, childish triumph when he looked aggravated.

"Is being here too boring for you, Miss Romanoff?" He said coldly.

"It's Agent, actually," She responded coolly, "And yes, it is. We could've gone in and left ten times already, but instead we're here, wasting time, acting like sitting ducks-"