Chernivtsi, Ukraine

Spring 2015

It took a fair bit of convincing, and some rather skilled manipulation on Natasha's part, but Rogers and Barton had ultimately been brought on board with the idea to go after the remaining Azarov brother immediately, without going to New York first to regroup.

They didn't have time to spare, she'd insisted, something that Nadine had wholeheartedly agreed with. After all, who knew what sorts of flags Sergey had built into his communiqués with Nadine or into any files relating to him to warn him if he was being tracked online. The sooner they went after him, Natasha had pointed out, the less chance there was that he'd make a break for it and disappear. Plus, she'd added, someone was still metaphorically holding a knife to Nadine's throat, and there was no telling how long before whoever was pulling her strings made good on the threats they'd used to coerce The Ghost into doing their bidding. A mix of relief and chagrin had flashed through Nadine when Natasha had said that, but outwardly she'd allowed herself little reaction to Natasha's bluntness beyond a simple nod of agreement.

But that relief had faded quickly as they had landed on the outskirts of Chernivtsi, Ukraine. It wasn't far, all things considered, from the small town just north of the Moldovan border where Nadine had traced Sergey Azarov to years ago in her search for his brother Mikhail.

Then came the planning. It was there that J.A.R.V.I.S. once again proved his worth, providing them with an incredible influx of information about the building, the surrounding area and even confirmation that there was someone in Azarov's apartment; presumably Azarov himself. From there, Barton—their eyes and their cover—had been sent out to get into position. Meanwhile, Rogers and Natasha continued to look over the intelligence J.A.R.V.I.S. had provided, talking over strategy and making a tentative plan to some extent, but mostly it was Rogers trying to convince Natasha to stay behind, concerned by the risk presented by her injury.

As the pair of them bickered, Nadine nearly groaned in aggravation, still bristling from the way the Captain had been trying to give her orders. Her! Orders! She worked alone. She always had. The only reason she wasn't alone now was because she'd been foolish enough to get caught. Then again, she wouldn't have traced her blackmailer back to Azarov at all if she hadn't been...so grudgingly, she withheld the urge to give the chiselled Captain a solid smack to make her opinion of his orders known. She was not an Avenger. He was not her Captain. She didn't follow anyone's orders unless they coincided with what she wanted to do.

And right now, she saw her opportunity staring her in the face. As Barton was off doing what he did and Natasha disputed Rogers' call, Nadine slipped away. She was not interested in waiting to have a little talk with Sergey Azarov.

Besides, she was quite certain he would have things to say that she didn't want anyone to hear but herself.

Getting out of the Quinjet had been easy; they'd left the ramp open, so it was just a matter of walking out without them noticing. Nadine knew how to keep from drawing attention to herself. Years of training and honing that skill first in the Red Room and then as The Ghost on top of her natural talent meant that silent steps and unobtrusive movement came easily to her. Natasha and Rogers didn't even notice.

Getting to Azarov's building unseen was also easy; she'd paid close attention to J.A.R.V.I.S.'s breakdown of the area surrounding the building and the structure itself with the Avengers, so she had more than enough to go on, her route locked in her head before she'd even left the Quinjet. So getting to the building and slipping inside virtually unseen was simple enough. The few cameras, alarms and locks were quickly taken care of, especially as J.A.R.V.I.S. had already bypassed the more advanced tech Sergey had put up. Once she was inside the apartment, it was even easier. It was a tiny, dark little place, with a main living space complete with almost forgotten kitchenette, what was likely a little bathroom and the bedroom which, considering how the bed was in what would normally be the living room, was used for something completely different. In that she was certainly correct.

So when she cornered Sergey Azarov in his bedroom-turned-computer lab, panicked and in the process of deep-sixing his system's harddrives and memory, she'd been prepared for the not-so-easy part.

But now that was turning out to be pretty easy too. Subduing him had been straightforward, his surprise and panic working to her advantage; she hadn't even deemed it necessary to restrain him, her presence more than enough to keep him frozen in the chair she'd all but hauled him back to after he'd tried to run. While questioning him hadn't initially been quite so easy, it still hadn't taken nearly the amount of effort she'd expected. A little flirting, a little touching, along with some flattery, some bluffed and real logic mixed in with a healthy measure of intimidation and topped off with just the right dose of pain and she soon had him turning away from the outright denials he'd opened with before he'd even realized he'd done so...he certainly was nothing like his brother.

Mikhail had been hard, cunning, brutal and ruthless. He'd been a man that was made to be an assassin and a spy. He'd been one of the ones brought into the Red Room to test the girls on their resistance to interrogation; the man had liked hurting people. He'd had no qualms about killing those who failed his tests in the Red Room. Despite all the hard lessons and harder teachers Nadine had faced during her training, Mikhail Azarov had been one of the few instructors she'd genuinely learned to hate in that place. It was probably what made deciding to go after him all those years ago as easy a decision as it had been.

Sergey was proving quite a different sort of man. While perhaps just as detached from the concept that people were more than just names or bodies as his brother had been, and perhaps even as ruthless—certainly as cunning and smart, at least intellectually—Sergey was not so hard nor so sadistic as Mikhail had been. His place was behind computer screens, brokering contracts, writing algorithms and matching agents and hired guns with clients. He didn't have the training to withstand a real spy's interrogation, not when that spy had been trained in the Red Room...and by his own brother.

Yet there was one thing he was being reticent on.

"You've already admitted you didn't find me entirely on your own, and you admitted you were supplied a great deal of the material that was being used against me. Really, I don't know why you aren't giving me the name to go with everything you've already spilled. If you're afraid of retribution? Of someone coming after you for it? Well, you've already shared more than enough for that. What more do you have to lose?"

"The difference between a quick death and a drawn-out one," Sergey bit out peevishly, though there was a subtle, anxious waver to his tone. Nadine restrained the hard smile that she was tempted to show him, instead settling for a patient, understanding one as she settled herself on his knee, draping an arm around his shoulders. He was tense from a mix of fear and interest that nearly amused Nadine. He was proving irritatingly predictable. She gave him an honest-looking, level look.

"Whether you tell me or not will mean the difference between a quick death and a drawn-out one, Sergey." He swallowed thickly, his pulse quickening, this time with fear. She smiled again. "You of course know what I'm capable of—you've seen the images you were told to send to me, as well as the video footage I imagine was included as well—just as you also know what Natasha Romanoff is capable of. You had to know I was close with her once." His face had begun to blanche, growing more sickly even as his jaw tightened as a means to restrain the urge to give in and simply tell her. Nadine stood, walking behind him, her hand lingering on his shoulder.

"You know it was Natasha Romanoff—also known as the Avenger Black Widow—that you tried to blackmail me into killing, right? She didn't really take too kindly to the idea of a hit on her, and she wants to know almost as badly as I do who was behind it all. And if you think working with the 'Good Guys' has caused her to go soft? Well...she was always much better at interrogation than I was..." She leaned in over his shoulder, peering at his profile as she let him come to his own conclusions about what she meant by that; a most effective technique. His eyes flicked nervously to her. "I managed to get here first. But I can't imagine she's likely to be far behind." She let the statement hang in the air. His eyes had fixed on where her hand still lingered. When he still didn't speak she allowed herself a sigh.

"I'm impressed by how well you're holding out," she baited, angling to lure him into overconfidence to weaken his resistance, "but you have to know I will find out. Really, you had to know all along that I wouldn't be held off from tracing this arrangement, in part, back to you. If not after this assignment, then after the next, or the one afterward." He snorted, the sound almost derisive if not for the fear in it. She purposefully narrowed her eyes at him in inquiry. One thing she had noticed was that he rather enjoyed proving what he knew. The right pressure and...

"Of course I did. How could I not know you'd eventually trace it back to me? That's why I had assurances. Promises of protection." Nadine shrugged lazily, goading him on.

"Hasn't done you much good."

"You were never supposed to make it this far." Nadine's eyes narrowed for real this time at the way he said it, circling around to face him again, bending down so she able to look him straight in the eye. All pretence of softness was gone as she fixed him with a hard look. He nearly started, and Nadine was belatedly gratified by the unconscious shiver that ran through him.

"Explain," she demanded softly. Dread appeared in his eyes and after a heartbeat of indecision he violently shook his head. She allowed another sigh. And she put the hand still resting on him to good use.

He tried to snarl defiantly at her, but it only came out as a whimpering grimace. "Because you weren't supposed to make it out of the latest assignment," he whined out. Nadine eased back. Sergey let out a huff of relief, eyeing her warily. "You were set up for failure on this one, Madame Ghost; Black Widow alone, your reputation suggests you could handle if you could get beyond your past with her; you'd be an even match." When he hesitated, she tilted her head, and he took the gesture as a warning, continuing quickly. "But against the Avengers? There's no way. They'd take you out, take you in, whatever; you'd be out of the picture. If you had managed to take down Black Widow first, that would have been a bonus. But the idea was always that the Avengers would have gotten you out of the way." Nadine frowned with mistrust. It made no sense; she was useful to this blackmailer as The Ghost. They had a Master Assassin in their back pocket they could whip out whenever they had need of her. They even gave themselves a hefty discount when she was engaged, thanks to the leverage they had on her. And the risk inherent in the Avengers getting their hands on her? Well, her presence in Azarov's apartment showed just how much of a risk that had been...

"To what end?" she pressed. He shrugged in denial, but there was a glint in his watery eyes that told her he did know. She didn't have to do more than twitch, a mere suggestion of what she was willing to do again and he jerked with panic.

"He wants your daughter," he blurted, eyes wide and rolling as they fixed on her hand again. Nadine froze, her breath catching painfully in her chest as her own eyes went wide with shock and dread of her own. It took a moment before she was able to speak, her throat closing as her mind struggled to wrap around what he'd just said. It was almost enough to override her years of training to stay utterly focused on her task.

"Explain," she choked out. He shuddered, tearing his eyes away from her to squeeze them shut.

"I—I don't—I'm j-just—she didn't—" he stuttered dejectedly, "—you're not the only one in someone's p-pocket." She didn't doubt it, not that it really mattered to her just then. With those few words, Nadine was abruptly past caring, his admission nearly throwing her into a state of enraged panic. Her fingers tightened when he tried to clamp his mouth shut again.

"I don't know," he shrieked, "she didn't tell me why! Only an offhanded comment about you and her father and that making her a perfect candidate when I got curious and tried to find out more. But for what I don't know! All I know is that her boss, her partner, whatever he is, needed you out of the picture so he could get to your kid. He couldn't get to her with you around."

"She? He," Nadine ground out. He looked up to her again in terror at what he'd let slip. A desperate grunt panted out of him as he scuttled forward, trying to dart around her. She might have rolled her eyes in any other circumstance, but she was far too desperate. He barely managed to make it out into the main room before she overtook him, a deft grab and twist sending him flying into the threadbare carpet. As her hands latched onto his shirt, pulling him around to face her, he whimpered, his eyes showing he was done evading her questions. And he took a shuddering breath.

Then everything happened at once.

With a shuddering crash, Rogers all but barrelled his way through the front door, the wood nearly exploding into a shower of splinters, Natasha not far behind.

And with a delicate crack and gusting thump, a single hole was punched through one of Sergey's blacked out windows.

Nadine's training served her well; where another's pulse might have started thundering, panicked and stunned, in their ears as they jerked away from the threat, Nadine's pulse and focus were steady and her head clear despite her very real shock. Before she could react further, there was suddenly another body nearly crashing into her as the sound of another high-calibre round ricocheting off metal rang in her ears. But her grip didn't loosen on Sergey Azarov and neither did her gaze.

Sergey choked and gurgled horribly, blood beginning to gush up from the bullet hole that had ripped through his lungs to dribble thickly from his mouth, garbling his voice. But that didn't quite keep Nadine from understanding what he said. Her mind raced, her disbelief quickly overwhelmed by fury.

"Zhirova," he coughed out, the blood coming faster as he struggled to draw enough breath for the second name. With a final, wet rattle he went still, the name seeping out with his last guttural breath:

"Strucker."

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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