From Russia With Blood (Wolverine/Widow)

[James "Logan" Howlett]

Location: Moscow, Russia
Date: 2/13/2013
Time: After Midnight

Logan didn't feel the cold. Extremely low temperatures did nothing to the man. Even before his powers kicked in when he was twelve, Logan was from Canada, he was destined to shake off the cold.

Still, that didn't mean that he had to be happy he was in Moscow in February, the coldest month of the Russian year. Xavier had sent him, without alerting the rest of the team, to hunt down Mikhail Rasputin, the brother of team member Colossus and serious Mutant criminal, before Magneto found the man and recruited him to the brotherhood.

This was a by any means necessary mission, Charles had all but told him that. It meant one thing, Wolverine would be facing off against everyone who got in his path except civilians. Rasputin needed to be reigned in, or neutralized. This was what Logan was best at, no one was a better assassin than the Wolverine.

Of course, after a few days of reconnaissance, Logan learned that his job became a lot harder when he realized he was dealing with a Government job. Rasputin was being held by the Russians. Even worse, he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the only person from the States working a black ops job in Moscow.

Sneaking onto a compound was easy for him. Slipping in at night, cutting down any guards. There was only one issue, and it dealt with that flash of long red hair he saw on the roof ahead of him. He climbed the ladder and approached, waiting for the woman to turn and shoot him. He cleared his throat before addressing her.

"Darlin', I thought I told you to cut that hair if you're gonna do these kinds of missions."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The man walked like… well, like a man. Like a Neanderthal, really. His footsteps were heavy, and Tasha had heard him coming practically a mile away. That said, he moved fast.

“And I thought I told you that you have no business giving beauty tips, лапушка.”

Her smile was cold, just like the rest of her. Truthfully, she was freezing her ass off. The Widow suit was insulated, sure, but this was February in Russia. It had been an uphill battle to keep her muscles primed and awake, and she knew Logan had the advantage there.

Green eyes, made greener by the absence of colour in all winter white, looked him over. She wasn’t going to be rid of him anytime soon – that man was arguably as stubborn as she was. Not to mention he was probably being paid very well for being here; inconvenience wasn’t something he usually volunteered for. Considering this, it would probably behoove her to work if not with him, then around him -- provided their mark wasn’t the same, of course. She doubted it was, but all the same…

“What brings you to Moscow?”

There was a trace of tired amusement in her voice, put there on purpose. If he though she really wanted to know, she didn’t know if he would tell her; their relationship was only so warm.

* * *

[James "Logan" Howlett]

"Yeah, I guess you did, didn't ya."

Logan admitted she was right. He and the Black Widow had a history. When he was running with SHIELD, before Department H picked him up after a run in with everyone's favorite green giant, they'd even run a few missions together. There were things Logan and Natasha were willing to do that Hawkeye just wasn't.

He recalled hunting down remnants of a terrorist cell in the Middle East. Sand everywhere, sticking to the blood stained all over him. Killing everything that moved besides his own partner. A surge of violence never before committed by more conventional SHIELD agents. They were killers, both of them having done so simply to survive. He supposed that was a reason why they could stand each other's company. Of course, they weren't exactly always the best of friends.

She asked what he was there for and he smirked, "Oh, you know. Lunatic mutant, gotta go take care of him. Chuck doesn't give me the easy stuff like his golden boy," he assumed that she knew he rolled with the X-Men now. SHIELD, Natasha in particular, were good at gathering information on former Operatives.

"Don't suppose I should even bother asking what you're here after," Logan knew better, but he could still take a guess, "Fury sent you, classified, needed someone of questionable morals." He chuckled before saying, "You don't have to answer that." The guard duty passed by again, two with automatic weapons. Child's play. Logan would wait for them both to pass by, drop behind them and put three holes in each. He was sure that if Natasha was trying to get into the same building he was, the job would only be easier. Still, making a move on the Russians like this, they were going to need to compare a few notes here and there, "So, what've you got on them? Obviously the Russians know better than to just have a few armored guards laying around. I'm betting they got a whole bunch of those prototypes Anton and Ivan Vanko cooked up."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

”Mmm,” she mused, a single eyebrow arching as she blatanty ignored the question. “Questionable morals. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She looked out at the camp, the men dark against the snowy backdrop. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing she didn’t expect. In fact, this base had been studied for some time, and she’d been briefed on the rotation of guards and other patrol patterns. On top of that, she’d been watching them for nearly two days now.

“They’re half frozen, just like we… just like I am.” Her eyes never left the tracks of the soldiers through the snowdrifts. “Definitely not a problem. But yes – I’m anticipating some sort of automated security closer to the base. Probably bastardised StarkTech…”

There was a faint trace of amusement in her voice at the irony of the situation, but she just held up a hand, indicating the firepower strapped to her hips and wrists.

“I don’t expect them to be a problem, either.”

Finally, she looked at him. She wasn’t sure what they had was friendship – she wasn’t well versed enough with the phenomenon to tell – but she trusted him. As far as this job went, anyway. And now that he was here, her job would only be easier; their morals were similarly coloured. She smiled faintly, not feeling her cheeks in the cold.

“We could probably do this in our sleep.”

* * *

[James "Logan" Howlett]

Logan resisted the urge to flirt, he was a (somewhat) changed man. There was another redhead in his live, and it wouldn't be very honorable of him to go around like he used to back when he was on his own, "Just calling them like I see them darlin'. You did shoot me in the head and toss my ass out of a plane before."

He chuckled at Natasha's assessment of the guards, especially when she corrected herself saying that she was freezing. It was true, he wasn't all that cold, "I haven't felt real cold since I was a kid." He would say it was because he was Canadian, but Natasha was as Russian as the Kremlin, she was used to the cold too. Still, there would be no problem with these guys, it was whatever was inside that he didn't want to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, Logan didn't like to get shot, fried, stabbed and the like, he healed, but the memory of those pains never went away.

He smirked, "I saw what you did during that invasion when i got back from the Savage Lands. I was worried hanging out with a bunch of brightly colored dorks would've made you soft." Logan had been away from the States when the Chitauri attacked, otherwise he would have gotten involved with the Avengers. He'd cross paths with the entire team eventually.

Of course Logan had experience with a few of them. He'd clashed with Stark, been torn clean in half by the Hulk, and served in the military by Captain America's side. After being in SHIELD with Hawkeye, the only member of the team he hadn't dealt with was Thor.

"In our sleep huh?" Logan chuckled, "Well, if you're certain, we should get this done quick." As soon as they guards had passed by just enough, Logan launched himself down off the roof. Forgoing the usual battle cry, Wolverine landed on top of them, cutting through the two of them like warm butter. Logan retracted his claws before looking back up, "Looks like they left the doors unwatched Nattie, time to get moving." He called her Nattie to get under her skin, as if he was challenging her to kill more than him.

A sick challenge, but it wasn't something they hadn't done before.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

”Soft?” A pout of indignation twisted her full lips. “When have you ever known me to be soft” A playful look flitted over her face, her features unchanging except for the spark in her eye. “There’s only one thing soft about me, Logan, and it’s not my morals.”

She wasn’t an idiot; she knew why Fury had sent her and only her. Besides the fact that her loyalty could be counted on – SHIELD had practically taught her the meaning of the word – there remained the fact that she knew some things were bigger than peace talks. This faction had killed, and would kill again, and if you asked her, she was only evening the balance a little. It just happened to be enjoyable.

He jumped down without preamble, the snow cushioning the sound of his bulk hitting the ground. But she knew the snick of those metal claws, and the edges of her mouth turned up in a wry smile before she launched herself neatly off the roof as well. She landed in a snowdrift that came up to her hips, which was great for shock absorption, but it was still damn cold, and by the time she’d trudged out of it, he had remembered her least favourite nickname.

“Head starts aren’t fair, you know.”

It was an empty observation; she knew they each had their own idea about what was fair.

Without reacting to the nickname – it would only fuel the fire – Natasha took off at a sprint, determined to reach the front doors before him but knowing she probably wouldn’t.

Damn all this snow. When this was over, she wanted a bottle of good vodka. She'd get it, too. She hadn't come all this way for nothing.

* * *

[James "Logan" Howlett]

A snicker escaped from Wolverine at her quip. He knew where that sense of humor had come from. It came from being around all the rowdy SHIELD agents who had helped break her training from when she was a child. Logan had been around for that much. He'd joined the organization some time after he left Weapon X, having had enough of the causeless (in his mind anyway) destruction. The murdering spree in Africa had been too much for the man.

From there, his old World War II buddies pulled him in to work for SHIELD. They were all getting old and ready for retirement. Dum Dum had passed on the Director position to Nick Fury before retiring and Howard Stark died just before his punk kid went to college three years early. They'd asked Logan to work at Fury's right hand, but he refused, that wasn't his style. Wolverine worked in the fields. That's where he met Barton and Natasha, that's where he met Silverfox. It was also where he met the Hulk and ended up going off grid for a time.

Now he was with the X-Men, and it actually felt more like a home than anywhere else had been in a long time. Was it still dangerous? Sure, but Logan couldn't live any other way.

“Head starts aren’t fair, you know.”

"Heh," Logan nearly snorted, "I'm not the one packing more guns than a police station on the South American border. Where do you put them all?"

Okay, he wasn't above a little bit of perverted humor now and then, whether he watched the girl grow up or not. Natasha had been an adult long before he'd met her anyway.

If there was one downfall to Logan's adamantium skeleton, it was that he weighed over three hundred pounds. Rather than his bones feeling like they were part of him, they felt like they were extra weight, like he was always carrying something. Natasha didn't have that disadvantage, she could move normally. She beat him to the door, but he was hot on her heels. Stopping on both sides, he looked to her before looking to her, "If this is the back door, we're in. If it's the front door, we're gonna take heavy fire."

He smirked, "I don't suppose 'Ladies first', is gonna cut it, eh?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha beamed beatifically; the effect was shatteringly cold, and more than a little terrifying.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

In fact, she did have firepower strapped just about everywhere she could carry. She’d become an expert at hiding firearms without sacrificing fashion; many of her posts demanded it. Where would she have been in Milan without her .19mm, or in Dankov without that fortuitous, if archaic, switchblade? But the Black Widow didn’t give away her secrets, not to Logan, not to anyone.

Besides, if she told him, he’d only be horribly distracted, and they couldn’t be having that right now. Her focus was on the mission. Kill now, vodka later; it was all in a day’s work.

"I don't suppose 'Ladies first', is gonna cut it, eh?"

She blinked.

“Not unless you go first.”

She didn’t give him the chance, and one shot fried the complex mechanical lock on the door, leaving only it’s heavy steel construction keeping it shut. Determinedly, she tucked one shoulder down, ramming it forward and continuing to dig her heels into the snow, the screech of metal hinges encouraging her.

* * *

[James "Logan" Howlett]

Logan watched as Natasha smashed the door open with a shoulderblock. She'd learned well from whoever taught her to infiltrate. He wished that he could have taken some credit for teaching her that sort of stuff, but that wasn't because of him. Really, if Logan figured he'd taught the young woman anything, it was just more ways to kill. Having spent time actually teaching kids something other than killing, now that he was part of Xavier's school. It was kind of rewarding, in some ways, he'd wished he could have been the guy he was now when he was in SHIELD and Natasha was a young adult.

But, she appeared to be doing well enough for herself without his help, Logan couldn't go back and do things differently anyway.

He needed to focus.

As soon as Natasha broke through the door, they were met with fire. Logan trusted the Black Widow enough to find cover. He could spot one of the guards just ahead. Logan felt the muscles in his legs tighten before he lunged, jabbing his claws through the man's kevlar vest. In the rain of bullets, Wolverine tore his claws out of he man and then slashed one of the men at his side, tearing through his calf. The guard fell to his knee, only to have Logan's other hand slash through his head.

Finally, Logan used his free hand to sever the man's head from his body, dropping it and letting it roll away. A couple of bullets tore through Logan's shoulder. He growled and turned toward the one responsible for firing on him, then charged at him, impaling the guard through his shoulders and backing him up with through sheer brute force. There was a window going into another room just ahead, kind of a detainment room of sorts. In a loud crash, Logan and the armored guard went barreling through the room, the glass shredding up Logan's face and cutting through thinner parts of his jumpsuit.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

As soon as they were inside, they were under fire. Every ounce of Natasha’s concentration was spent dodging and swinging, fighting her way through to a place she could make a stand from. Her gun was constantly alight, the round emptying without fail, guards dropping this way and that.

When her bullets were spent, she shoved the firearm –still smoking – back into the holster at her hip, launching into a tireless arc of acrobatics. It was almost like dancing, the part where her feet barely touched the floor, her body constantly in motion, muscle extending then contracting as they all worked toward one purpose.

But instead of entertainment, that purpose was survival, making it very different from the ballet she remembered.

Nicking a gun from a soldier she dropped with a kick to the back of his neck, she downed three more with the stolen weapon, and was momentarily distracted by the sound of glass crashing, a crystalline waterfall to her right. A quick look confirmed it was only Logan doing his usual damage, and a wide smile stole over her face, an expression she only got in the fray of battle.

It was short-lived, however, when a guard got in a lucky punch, knocking the wind from her lungs. It was something she should have been able to avoid, and she blamed her own distraction, head reeling as she cracked his neck with a vicious roundhouse. It was time to get serious, take out the majority of the faction and possibly torture the rest into telling her what she needed to know.

* * *

[James "Logan" Howlett]

Logan walked out of the detainment room, his body healing up and pushing out any shards of glass or bullets that had ripped into his body. He cracked his neck before looking ahead. Between him and the Black Widow, the room had been cleared. He smirked before heading towards the woman.

"Not bad darlin', you cleared that place pretty quick," Logan admitted, "They know we're here now." This was the hard part, every floor they'd go to would be full of guards, waiting for them. Sure, they would clear every room without a problem, but Logan was going to be riddled with bullets every time. Sure, he healed, but the pain lasted for a good while after the wound was healed. Rolling his shoulders, Logan spoke up again, "I dunno about you Nat, but my guy is down in the lower levels, probably in the prison."

This wasn't going to be a cake walk, Natasha's help or not.

He headed for the elevator, pressing the button and only hanging on long enough for Natasha to join him if she planned on it. He couldn't find a button for the lower levels, just a keyhole. Releasing is center claw in his right hand, Logan cut into the lock and turned it so they would get moving. As soon as the elevator started to go, he retracted the claw and waited as they traveled into the depths of the building below. Without a clue what she was here for, Logan could only do so much to help her.