Budapest

Natasha - The House of Lotus

NATASHA

Solvetnik worked fast, as Natasha knew he would. He had the American's - Barton's - apartment bugged within twenty-four hours. Right under the kitchen sink too, prime placement to hear almost everything that happened in the entire apartment. Barton was hardly there much though which meant she picked up very little. For all his talk of a fresh start, he seemed to have semi-regular conversations with someone he was very comfortable with. Maybe he didn't really want to leave his past behind as he'd said.

The next day, she decided to really put the screws to Barton, pin him like a bug to a corkboard so he couldn't escape, get some answers as to his real business here. Her plans flew out the window the moment she stepped in the theatre. Mila had arrived early and she sat next to Barton on the edge of the stage. Natasha hung back, watching, as Mila talked a mile a minute, her face glowing, relating her adventures in dancing and Barton soaked up every word of it. He wasn't merely humoring her either. He gave Mila his full attention and Natasha couldn't ignore that, no matter what spin she tried to put on it. She wanted to hold it against him and resent him for getting Mila to open up, to be animated in a way she never was with anyone else only to crush her later on. He might let Mila down sometime in the future...but it was a long shot at best.

Other dancers began to show up along with the work crew and Barton and Mila went their separate ways. Despite the chaos of opening night drawing near with costume fittings and the orchestra coming in for practices now, she still managed to find a way to corner Barton backstage for a minute or two.

"You're distracting Mila from practice," Natasha said.

"Good morning to you too," Barton sighed. "Look, I know she has a job, so do I. The last thing I want is for her to slip up and lose a promising career in ballet just because we got a little chatty one too many times."

"Then keep your distance. She's young and she doesn't need whatever you're tangled up in."

That seemed to shut Barton's quips up for a fraction of a second. She'd hit a nerve. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, tinged with guilt.

"What do you expect me to do? Just ignore her?" He shook his head. "I don't want to hurt her."

"Then why are you talking to her?"

Barton shrugged in exasperation. "Because, damn it, she's the only one I've met who doesn't hate my American guts and hasn't outright threatened me which is actually kind of nice for a change."

Natasha didn't reply at first. She didn't pity him, but if he was desperate for friendships in a new place, she might learn more from him by playing the part of friend although the role never suited her much, it always became complicated and jumbled. Almost any other role would have suited her better. Cold hearted diva? A cinch. Don't let anyone in. She already did that. Seductress? Too easy. A little black dress, some red lipstick, and the rest was left up to the imagination. Voila, mission accomplished.

But friend? The lines became blurred, boundaries crossed in the blink of an eye, and it made the job infinitely harder than it already was when she had to double-cross - or kill - at a later date. She couldn't ever afford to develop a real friendship, the job would always come first.

"Earth to Miss Romanoff," Barton said, pulling her from her thoughts.

She blinked herself back to the present and shot him an annoyed look. "What."

"You just up and left there for a good minute or two. Everything okay?"

This was it. She didn't want to do it but if she could get the information she wanted, so be it. Time to change tactics.