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They crossed paths, as those within a rather limited community often do. Similar jobs. Similar skill sets. It was bound to happen. Natasha knew where to look to find her would-be replacement. And Yelena would know she was looking. It was part of the game. Who was the cat and who was the mouse was debatable from one encounter to another but the game went on.
This roof top, that fundraiser, this back alley. The search was always on and it was something Natasha, in her quieter moments, had to admit she enjoyed more than was likely healthy.
But when did healthy choices ever really come into play in her line of work?
It started as an exercise. Study the way the similar training could be used by someone else. Study how she approached a target. Study that glint in her eyes when a mission went well for her. Note the differences. Shift accordingly. Incorporate anything useful. Resourceful, methodical, emotionless.
But she wasn’t. Not really. Natasha could see something that, for anyone else would no doubt be alarming. Yelena enjoyed her work.
It should have been alarming when on her back and staring up at the blonde. It should have been alarming with her rifle out of reach and her team on the ground in the middle of a fire fight. But it was a challenge. Still part of the game.
“What now, spider?” Yelena smirked behind her mask, stalling so that Natasha couldn’t make a move to help her team. “Whatever shall you do now?”
“What we always do, of course.” Her foot swung out trying to catch the other woman’s ankle. “This is how it is now? Muscle for the manic minds of AIM?”
The laugh should have been disconcerting. Again, to anyone else it likely would have been. But Natasha knew the level of scorn and teasing in that sound as if it were her own voice. Part of the training, the mind games. “Life on a beautiful island with an endless list of targets? It is heaven, Milaya!” She hopped over Natasha’s second kick, giving her a chance to get to her feet. “You’d miss me if I weren’t here.”
“Not likely.” Natasha leaned out of the way of Yelena’s next swing. “I’d be on my way back home by now without your interruptions.”
“How dull. Home. SHIELD. The Avengers.” That was real scorn in her voice that time. She knew that scorn well. It had been hers once upon a time too, after all. “How you swallow their nonsense…”
“Every alliance has a price. Theirs is lower than others.” She left off the finer details. There was no point in getting into all that as they battled back and forth. Side step a sweep. Lean out of range of a punch. Catching her fist as she swung back again. Spinning as a blade appeared in her free hand and knocking it away just as quickly.
“So you say. I don’t believe it.”
Natasha let her own laugh fly along with a quick backhand. “And AIM has no conditions?”
“Only that I don’t kill too many of their minions.” She laughed and the joy in her voice was clear again. “Otherwise I might be doing your job for you, Milaya.”
“I don’t bother with minions.”
“No, Forson is a better target, isn’t he?” It was a calculated move. Yelena knew their target and she wanted Natasha to know. “One mad leader is as good as another.”
Natasha found she didn’t have an argument against that though. Rather a leader that wasn’t quite so mad, she thought. But it was a relative idea, wasn’t it? She could argue the point with herself as they fought, of course. She could argue the ins and out of their places in the world for days. But her team didn’t have time and she didn’t relish what would happen to them if she didn’t help.
“Silly boys and their silly arguments. Nothing really changes, does it? You do attract the ones that cause trouble, don’t you?”
“Trouble makes things interesting.” Again, there was no point in arguing. Yelena once again tipped her hand. No doubt on purpose. Natasha wasn’t learning anything Yelena didn’t want her to know.
“Your SHIELD doesn’t want me to join you? To do the dirty work so your lovely little agents and heroes won’t get their costumes and suits too dirty?” The mocking tone nearly turned into a laugh. “Or shall you just take my spot here?”
“Been there. Done that. Your wardrobe isn’t my taste.”
“What a shame.”
“Indeed.” She took the small opening Yelena gave her, grabbing the woman’s arm and slamming her into the nearest wall. The laugh came to full life, shifting Yelena’s back against Natasha’s chest.
“Are things really that simple where you stand?”
“Are they not for you?”
“Simple is dull.” Yelena pushed on the wall, throwing them both back and onto the floor. Natasha rolled them, pinning her in place. “Mm. Like old times, isn’t it?”
“Old tricks.”
“Classic, Natasha. There is a difference.”
“Not enough of a difference to let them work on me.”
“And yet here you are. On top of me and not saving your precious boys.” Yelena licked her lips. “What would Director Hill say about your priorities?”
“Words, words, words.”
The smile Yelena gave her was predatory. It was almost shocking not to see sharp, pointed teeth in that smile. Not that she’d need them to rip Natasha or her team apart, of course. “Because they keep you with me.”
“Because you have nothing else to offer.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Her head lifted fast enough that Natasha didn’t quite pull back in time. Their lips collided, all teeth and bites and force. Nothing of the slow building lessons the Red Room required. “You like the game too much, Milaya.”
Before Natasha could answer, she was on her feet, focused on the guards coming through the door. That couldn’t mean anything good. Where Clint and Fury’s son had ended up, she’d find out later but she fought her way through the crowd more out of self preservation—a hard habit to break—than much else. She would find them, of course and hopefully before someone at SHIELD got the idea to throw the ever present memory switch. But there were too many guards and Yelena at her back and before she got a good sense of the lay of the room, the window rushed up at her, shattering and throwing her out into the open air.
Thank goodness for Clint and his ever present, ever useful collection of arrows.
Perhaps running away wasn’t the most noble of pursuits but any fight one could get away from was a win. It had to be. One fight was not the whole war, after all. But she had the sinking feeling that she wouldn’t get a chance to run far this time. Yelena had a taste for her now. More so than usual, in fact. This time, she was the mouse. The prey. And she was never fond of being hunted. Especially when there was other prey to watch over.
If she had been alone, capture would barely have been a possibility for her pursuers. Even Yelena could be lost in the right environment. With the right tools. As it was, capture meant giving up a weakness. Something she knew Yelena would not be so forgiving about.
Because she knew, before Clint, before the Avengers, before SHIELD, she never would have been forgiving about it either.