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Jul. 29th, 2013 11:06 pmAgent Romanoff takes an absurdly long time to emerge from her hotel room in Sochi: it's almost, Coulson muses idly, as if she's in no hurry to risk life, limb and self-respect taking down a homicidal wetworks expert of unknown providence.
At his elbow, Lin is almost vibrating with the need to be doing something, anything more than waiting for their rogue agent to appear: in the end, he's almost losing patience with the kid's seemingly-unstoppable stream of observations, so sends him off to see if Starodoub's lackeys have put in an appearance yet. Isaacs goes too, on a counter-clockwise pattern to Lin's clockwise patrol, just to make sure nothing's been missed: with any luck, they might even get to the goons before the goons get to Romanoff.
It's an interesting locale: either Romanoff or Sofia is getting very James Bond-ish in their old age, but then it's hardly their fault if the Russian government is going out of its way to assist with that in the run-up to the Winter Olympics. He has plenty of time to study the place, waiting for either a report or an appearance from his missing agent... An appearance that, it dawns on him, after far too long a vigil, might not be about to happen so conveniently as he'd hoped.
And he's certainly not missing her again, not after the screw-up in Voronezh, so eventually he packs up their mobile set-up and heads off into the complex to look for her himself, just in case they've missed something.
~*~
The nosy tourist schtick is the oldest cover in the book for a very good reason, but it's not the kind of cover that allows for quick movements... Frustrating, but also probably the reason he's taking his time enough that he finds Isaacs huddled in a very dark corner with half her leg blown off.
Shit.
She's triaging herself with the remains of her skirt, but she's taken a bullet to the right abdomen as well and she's lost a hell of a lot of blood: he can see it in the papery sheen to her face, the painfully slow shaky movements - and, of course, the fact that she's missing most of a limb.
"Here," he says, because swearing is not helpful in these situations, and yanks a medkit out from the top of his pack. "Let me."
"I've got it, sir." Isaacs teeth are gritted and she's quite clearly lying like hell, but her voice is remarkably firm. "Find the kid. I think..."
She doesn't have to finish the sentence: alarm bells are screaming like air-raid sirens in his head. If she was watching Lin's back, then...
He hits the emergency tracer - he'll just have to find Romanoff before the SHIELD medsquad can arrive - and passes it to Isaacs. "When they arrive, don't send them after me," he tells her. "Good luck."
"Hell of a mess," she remarks, allowing him to help force her hands to apply pressure to her side. "What is it with these Europeans and litter?"
He doesn't answer that, and doesn't need to ask where Lin should be: he knows their routes inside out, because he mapped them for them.
The kid is curled up in a corner much as Isaacs was, but his head is not even close to being at a survivable angle.
This time, Coulson doesn't even think 'fuck'. It is an inadequate word.
He closes Lin's eyes for him, and he moves on.
~*~
He has to find Natasha: so help him, he will not allow Sofia to be three-for-three on his agents, and he doesn't currently much care what he has to do to ensure that.
The trajectory suggested by Isaacs and Lin's locations only has one natural endpoint - it's the main rink, and the only pause he makes on the way is to incapacitate with extreme prejudice a gun-for-hire he remembers seeing in Moscow, and again in Voronezh.
That means there's no-one stopping him from taking one of the back entrances into the bleachers: he stays low and (hopefully) inconspicuous, grateful that even though he's playing tourist he's playing one with a taste for sombre clothing, gun still in his hand as it has been since he found Lin's body.
He can see Romanoff and the woman who has to be Sofia, and he winces when Romanoff steps onto the ice - no no no, bad idea, no advantage - carefully moving closer to try to catch their conversation and
He flattens himself to the ground with slightly embarrassing ease, and tastes blood where the jolt to his jaw makes him bite his lip.
Not <i>quite</i> the elite secret agent he'd have liked to think he is, then.
He breaks cover just in time to see the ice explode and Natasha disappear with it, into what by all logic must be freezing water.
In summer gear.
He doesn't think, as such - he registers Sofia's exit, but only incidentally; it doesn't alter his trajectory, which is straight for his third and final agent, not even when Sofia tries to shoot him again.
He's slow on the ice, desperately slow, but he has to be: so slow that long before he reaches through the water he thinks he's lost her, must have lost her, won't have lost her; come on Natasha you're Russian for hell's sakes don't do this to me come on Natasha, come on --
Gotcha.
At his elbow, Lin is almost vibrating with the need to be doing something, anything more than waiting for their rogue agent to appear: in the end, he's almost losing patience with the kid's seemingly-unstoppable stream of observations, so sends him off to see if Starodoub's lackeys have put in an appearance yet. Isaacs goes too, on a counter-clockwise pattern to Lin's clockwise patrol, just to make sure nothing's been missed: with any luck, they might even get to the goons before the goons get to Romanoff.
It's an interesting locale: either Romanoff or Sofia is getting very James Bond-ish in their old age, but then it's hardly their fault if the Russian government is going out of its way to assist with that in the run-up to the Winter Olympics. He has plenty of time to study the place, waiting for either a report or an appearance from his missing agent... An appearance that, it dawns on him, after far too long a vigil, might not be about to happen so conveniently as he'd hoped.
And he's certainly not missing her again, not after the screw-up in Voronezh, so eventually he packs up their mobile set-up and heads off into the complex to look for her himself, just in case they've missed something.
The nosy tourist schtick is the oldest cover in the book for a very good reason, but it's not the kind of cover that allows for quick movements... Frustrating, but also probably the reason he's taking his time enough that he finds Isaacs huddled in a very dark corner with half her leg blown off.
Shit.
She's triaging herself with the remains of her skirt, but she's taken a bullet to the right abdomen as well and she's lost a hell of a lot of blood: he can see it in the papery sheen to her face, the painfully slow shaky movements - and, of course, the fact that she's missing most of a limb.
"Here," he says, because swearing is not helpful in these situations, and yanks a medkit out from the top of his pack. "Let me."
"I've got it, sir." Isaacs teeth are gritted and she's quite clearly lying like hell, but her voice is remarkably firm. "Find the kid. I think..."
She doesn't have to finish the sentence: alarm bells are screaming like air-raid sirens in his head. If she was watching Lin's back, then...
He hits the emergency tracer - he'll just have to find Romanoff before the SHIELD medsquad can arrive - and passes it to Isaacs. "When they arrive, don't send them after me," he tells her. "Good luck."
"Hell of a mess," she remarks, allowing him to help force her hands to apply pressure to her side. "What is it with these Europeans and litter?"
He doesn't answer that, and doesn't need to ask where Lin should be: he knows their routes inside out, because he mapped them for them.
The kid is curled up in a corner much as Isaacs was, but his head is not even close to being at a survivable angle.
This time, Coulson doesn't even think 'fuck'. It is an inadequate word.
He closes Lin's eyes for him, and he moves on.
He has to find Natasha: so help him, he will not allow Sofia to be three-for-three on his agents, and he doesn't currently much care what he has to do to ensure that.
The trajectory suggested by Isaacs and Lin's locations only has one natural endpoint - it's the main rink, and the only pause he makes on the way is to incapacitate with extreme prejudice a gun-for-hire he remembers seeing in Moscow, and again in Voronezh.
That means there's no-one stopping him from taking one of the back entrances into the bleachers: he stays low and (hopefully) inconspicuous, grateful that even though he's playing tourist he's playing one with a taste for sombre clothing, gun still in his hand as it has been since he found Lin's body.
He can see Romanoff and the woman who has to be Sofia, and he winces when Romanoff steps onto the ice - no no no, bad idea, no advantage - carefully moving closer to try to catch their conversation and
- bang
He flattens himself to the ground with slightly embarrassing ease, and tastes blood where the jolt to his jaw makes him bite his lip.
Not <i>quite</i> the elite secret agent he'd have liked to think he is, then.
He breaks cover just in time to see the ice explode and Natasha disappear with it, into what by all logic must be freezing water.
In summer gear.
He doesn't think, as such - he registers Sofia's exit, but only incidentally; it doesn't alter his trajectory, which is straight for his third and final agent, not even when Sofia tries to shoot him again.
He's slow on the ice, desperately slow, but he has to be: so slow that long before he reaches through the water he thinks he's lost her, must have lost her, won't have lost her; come on Natasha you're Russian for hell's sakes don't do this to me come on Natasha, come on --
-- and finds her wrist, and grabs it tight.
Gotcha.
