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It started with a shadow. Nothing anyone else on the street would notice, of course. That would give away the game too quickly and if there was anything Natasha enjoyed about her work—and occasionally on her time off when the mood stuck—it was a game. Not the kind that would get anyone killed. At least, not during the down time for-fun games. If anyone died, it was all work, work, work after that. No, neither of them wanted to kill anyone this time. This was personal.
This was for fun.
This was for the kick of knowing that there was someone just as good if not better to play off of. But neither of them was much for empty bragging, unlike some of her other friends; which was an odd category to fit Elektra into but still, it was as close as she had to a proper fit. It was entertaining to see how far Elektra could track her. To see how long it would take for Natasha to throw her off. To see which one of them would finally tip their hand and which one would win. When things got too quiet or too dull, this is what they did to pass the time; to keep their skills sharp and to keep themselves from seeking out more troubling forms of entertainment.
Natasha would laugh to herself--or occasionally to Elektra if they were having a more relaxed and social evening--that they couldn’t just laze around and let the world fly by. As if either of them would somehow sag into lethargy and lose all their skills with a little time to themselves. It was definitely one of their funnier jokes between them.
She turned left instead of right, going toward the small bakery on the corner instead of straight home just to be contrary. And to see if Elektra would cross the street to follow. She chatted with the woman who ran the place. Natasha was rather fond of Lyudmila and very fond of her lemon and poppy seed cakes. If she visited just a little longer than usual, Lyudmila didn’t seem to mind. Elektra probably didn’t either but Natasha liked to imagine it would get under her skin. Just a little.
She thought she saw a quick flash of red as she rounded the corner toward her apartment. She smiled to herself. Far be it for her to let a fellow professional get sloppy. She thought perhaps it was on purpose; a possible conversation topic if they were stuck for something to say, but she doubted it.
She set the cakes on her kitchen counter and made her way to the window that led to the fire escape. It occurred to her for a moment that she had more friends and acquaintances that entered that way than through the front door and perhaps that should be considered odd. But she rationalized that when one spent their time with assassins and spies and superheroes, odd was the way of things more often than not. “Well, come inside.” Natasha spoke before Elektra’s feet had touched the solid metal frame.
A moment later, the window closed. “How’s Lyudmila?”
“She sends her regards.” Natasha opened the package she’d set on the counter. “And cake.” She pulled out plates, cutlery and two mugs. “Coffee?”
Elektra nodded, sitting down at the small kitchen table in the corner, her back firmly against the wall. It was an old habit and likely necessary in most places and with most of the company she kept. Natasha didn’t take offense. She’d have done the same in Elektra’s home, if their places were reversed. But she had set up her kitchen the way it was for a reason. Her back would face the wall as well when she took the only other seat at the table.
Elektra watched her putt around the kitchen for a few moments; eyeing the cake and listening to the coffee perk do its thing. “No baklava this time?”
“Lyudmila only does that when we both know you’re coming.” Natasha cut two slices of the cake and set one in front of Elektra as she sat down.
“I’ll call ahead next time then.”
She watched Elektra take a bite of the cake and savor it. She even went so far as to close her eyes. Lyudmila had obviously outdone herself this time. “Just for the baklava?” Natasha couldn’t quite stop herself from smirking
Elektra put her fork down and stared at Natasha for a moment before a small smile crossed her lips. It wasn’t something everyone was gifted with, or that anyone would notice if they weren’t looking for it but Natasha knew where to look. “No.” The simple answer was all that was required, of course. That didn’t stop the small smile from growing slightly though. “Though it definitely helps.”
“Well, my window is always open to you, personally.” Natasha smiled. “My door too for that matter if you ever feel inclined to enter that way.” She let a small, dark laugh out even as her stockinged foot touched the curve of Elektra’s ankle under the table. “All my windows will be open personally, if you’d like.”
The soft touches of feet under the table didn’t stop, of course. It was part of the game. A part they both enjoyed immensely but a part of it that had to be earned. The chase was the first step. The verbal back and forth was the second step. The third step hadn’t been reached yet, but inevitably, it would have them on Natasha’s couch, or in her bed. But they’d have to build to that naturally. Neither woman was willing to open up and dive in without the proper precautions being taken.
“And these windows that are staying open…” Elektra didn’t miss the modifier. She didn’t just let the comment lie either. “Would they be open professionally too?”
“Darling,” Natasha took the last bite of her cake and stood with her plate in hand. She leaned in, pressing a breath of a kiss to Elektra’s cheek, far enough back to whisper in her ear. “If you’re looking for me professionally, I won’t be here.”