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Fury’s been at his wits end with the world around him for years, but as the droning voice of their recently-elected president floats from the tv and fills the room, he thinks that this is about the absolute peak of his irritation and he can’t take it anymore.
“Coulson, I need you to send Agent Romanoff my way,” he says into the intercom at his desk, shutting off the tv. He only vaguely registers the confirmation from the younger agent before he’s turning back to the tv, though not onto the news this time. Within a few minutes she’s in the room, although he’s not entirely sure how, seeing as she doesn’t have a key nor did he open the door for her. The simplest answer is simply that she is Natasha Romanoff, and that’s what she does, and he’s decided to settle for that; he doesn’t have time to decipher the habits of every spy and assassin under his employment.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the recent change in leadership in America?” he asks, although it isn’t a question and they both know it.
“Of course sir,” she sounds compliant and neutral to the untrained ear, but he can detect the veiled hint of malice in her voice and he grins internally.
“Well, I would like you to take care of it,” he raises an eyebrow, knowing she’ll be able to interpret the expression.
“Off-record?” she asks, eyes sparkling. Clearly she doesn’t approve of the man either, just as he’d suspected
“Off-record,” he confirms, “I’ll need to find you a partner, then we can talk logistics. Getting caught on this one..” he doesn’t finish the thought, secure in the knowledge that she already understands the ramifications; political and personal. He might be worried for anyone else, but Natasha is by far the most dangerous assassin in the world, even if she’s mostly been put off that line of work. The woman doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. She nods grimly, and her body language stays the exact same, but he can see a hint of a smile ghosting her features. “Do you have someone in mind?” he asks in response to the sudden change of emotion, even if it is subtle.
“Agent Morse, sir,” she says without pause and he nods immediately.
“Ah,” Bobbi Morse. Another assassin within Shield. He isn’t surprised they’ve apparently gotten acquainted, even if they’ve never been officially assigned to a case together. “Call her in.”
The plan is one of their less risky ones to date, disregarding the heightened consequences to getting caught. Their target is the most self-important mark yet as well, and possibly the dumbest. His security is pretty tight, but it’s formation was overseen by people who’d already developed a great dislike for him and offered opportunities to terminate him through the assassins grapevine. Natasha credits his continued living to her own unofficial claim on him. Many had learned the hard, bloody way that the high-profile bigots are hers to kill unless she’d already relinquished rights to the job, and it seems that Trump is generally acknowledged as fitting this.
They decide to take advantage of the released information and opportunities from inside the government, to which Bobbi had seemed surprised and Natasha had only offered her a self-satisfied smile. Within two days the assassins are stalking the white house, barely taking care to be quiet.
“So why’d you take the easy way this time?” Bobbi eventually asks, keeping her face flat for the cameras throughout the hallway. She looks strange and nothing like the woman Natasha so admires, her face someone else’s due to one of Stark's fancy new face masks. The tech is above Natasha’s understanding but simple enough to use, and makes her job almost too easy. She doesn’t love it on Bobbi here, however. She likes looking at the assassin's actual face; long blonde hair, sharp facial features but a soft face, the spray of freckles across her nose.
“The principle of it,” Natasha says, earning her an arched brow from her companion. She can understand why; Natasha is known for paving her own path during an assasination instead of taking the easy way, for exactly that reason. “He believes himself above and loved by everyone,” she explains, “so won’t it be ironic when those he imagines to be enamored with him are his downfall?” she can tell at the same time Bobbi does that they’ve passed the general hallway into the more residential area, meaning there aren’t security cameras any longer, and they both let their faces contort into grins. Bobbi offers her hand for a high five, which Nat accepts, abandoning all caution.
“Who’s there?!” rings through the room as the echo of skin hitting skin sounds. The voice is pathetically whiny and self-important and Natasha smirks.
The man is their easiest target yet, and within seconds he’s on the floor, Nat’s heel in his mouth to keep him quiet, and Bobbi’s knife at his throat. Bobbi rips the mask off, her blonde curls spilling out of it and over her shoulders. Bobbi’s natural appearance is a much better view than Trump’s orangey face, and Natasha smiles more genuinely as the blonde’s knife slashes.
Nat slowly takes her shoe off the dying man’s lips, and waits until Bobbi has risen again to inspect the cut. Its expert work; deep enough to kill him in just a few moments but shallow enough that he’ll live another few moments in excruciating pain instead of getting a quick death.
Pulling off her own face mask, Nat smirks and pulls Bobbi close to her. Natasha is known for taking what she wants, but she waits for Bobbi this time. The blonde takes the hint and presses her lips to Nat’s, and they kiss slowly and deeply for the fascist to see as he attempts to take his dying breath.
It’s quite satisfying to see the affronted look on his face as his eyes go glossy and Natasha smirks. She bends down slowly so as to offer Bobbi a better view as she checks his pulse, and finds nothing. Her gloved fingers are unpleasantly covered in blood from this action, so she
decides screw it and swirls a finger deeper into the cut, coating the glove entirely, before using her now-red finger to draw a simple heart on the floor of the pristine room much too good for it’s occupant.
Bobbi smiles serenely and they link arms as they walk away from the gruesome scene.
BONUS:
To Steve Rogers it felt like he’d been in a bad mood for months. He’d sincerely thought that in 70 years the country would had rid itself of fascists and supremacy ideals, but it’s 2016 and look who’s in office.
He sighs to himself as he turns on the news, hoping he won't have to deal with yet another confusing and self-important speech by their under qualified president. He almost turns it back off when he hears the name “Trump” almost immediately, but stops when his eyes register the scene portrayed on the screen.
There’s a chalk outline of a body on the floor, and tape pinned around a heart drawn in blood. Steve has never wished violence on anyone by his own nature, but he smiles to himself anyways.
A week later Natasha receives a neatly-penned note simply reading
“Thanks,
S.R.”