Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize…

A/N: The things is that I had this urge to write but I just can't handle anything that remotely canon so I came up with this AU. I know that you are not big fan of the genre but hey, give it a try, 'kay? It's borderline crackfic and kinda cheesy romcom and a little noir-ish…things like that. Also it takes place mostly in Europe coz I live there and you know, great art happens here.

The title is from a Kings of Leon song, True Love Way.

No beta was harmed, all mistakes are mine, merry still goes 'round.

Tell me what you think!

It starts in Paris, because of course it fucking does.

They run into each other, quite literally, in the middle of the Pont de l'Archevêché, and it's so fucking poetic Mary Ann nearly falls of the barstool, laughing so hard when Steve tells her the story. Steve had been walking back to where he was staying in the 4th arrondissement, having left his most recent mark bleeding out in a swanky apartment overlooking the Boulevard Saint Germain.

His hands stink of disinfectant, and he still has his Browning Hi-Power tucked into the inside pocket of his suit when he stumbles into the tall, gorgeous woman on the Pont de l'Archevêché, and falls in love.

She is wearing skintight black dress, a cropped leather jacket and boots with blood-red soles. She has long dark hair that tumbles messily around her shoulders, and Steve wants to fist his hands in it and pull. He curls his hands around her shoulders for a bit longer than necessary while setting her back on her feet, and starts to stumble his way through an apology in French, when the woman smirks.

"Anglais?" she raises an amused brow.

"Is it that obvious?" Steve asks, and he's still standing far too close to the woman, keeping his hands on her shoulders as people stream around them, and the Seine drifts by beneath them.

"Your accent is horrible," she laughs.

She hollows her cheeks around a cigarette Steve hadn't realized she'd been holding, and Steve goes weak at the knees.

In a manly sort of way.

Steve smiles at her, and after a moment, the woman smiles back.

"Steve," he says, sticking out a hand, and the woman regards him for a minute before transferring the cigarette to her left hand and shaking Steve's. Her grip is firm, and Steve wants to undress her and never let her go.

"Kono," the woman says, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"Kono," Steve says, rolling her name across his tongue and the woman shoots him a look from beneath dark eyelashes. Steve grins at her again. "Can I buy you a drink, Kono?"

Kono tongues her cigarette to the side of her mouth and shrugs. "I thought you'd never ask."

They walk off the bridge into the 4th arrondissement, and Steve follows Kono past Notre Dame to a crowded little bar that Kono knows that sells Italian food. They order four different kind of pasta and white wine and make small talk.

Steve learns that Kono was born and raised in New York City, and that she moved to Paris to go to school and never left. She studied art restoration and she works at an art gallery doing just that. Steve tells Kono that he grew up in a suburb of Chicago, but currently lives and works for an investment firm in London. He tells Kono that he's in Paris on business and it's nowhere near the whole truth, but from the way Kono is smirking at him over the rim of her glass he thinks that maybe he's being lied to as well. He'd press the issue, but Kono's hand has been on his thigh since they ordered their second round of drinks, and it's really not that important, anyway.

The November sun sets slowly over Paris, painting the streets gold, and Steve pays the bill and they walk on, meandering their way back to Steve's hotel in an unspoken agreement. They get distracted on the way there by another bar, where they sit until the sun sinks further behind the horizon and the moon raises itself over Paris. They huddle together outside and Steve shares Kono's cigarettes and they drink red wine that stains their mouths red.

When they leave, Kono pushes Steve into an alleyway, presses him against a wall and yanks him down by his tie so that she can kiss him. Kono kisses like it's a fight and Steve leans into it and lets her win. He slides his hands under Kono's jacket and curls them around her waist, squeezing until Kono pants into his mouth and pulls back.

"Tell me your hotel is nearby," Kono hisses, and Steve dips his head to bite at Kono's neck and then nods, pulling her breathlessly forward.

They stumble through the heart of the Marais to Steve's hotel, a little place tucked down an unassuming street. It's pricey, classic French decadence tucked behind an unassuming façade, but beautiful. Steve loves Paris, and he has a hunch that Kono's skin will look golden against the rich, green brocade the bed in his room had been draped in.

The concierge is indifferent to their rushed progress through the lobby, barely looking up as Kono pushes Steve into the tiny elevator and kisses him again while the doors close. Kono's teeth are sharp on Steve's lip and she slides clever hands under Steve's suit jacket. Steve reaches clumsily for her hands, while keeping one firmly clasped over Kono's hips and tenses when the palm of Kono's hand brushes over the barrel of his gun.

Kono smirks wickedly against his mouth.

"An investment banker?" She murmurs, throwing Steve's earlier words back at him with an amused drawl.

"You're wearing a pair of brand new Louboutin boots," he whispers into Kono's ear and takes great pleasure in making her shudder. "I've never met anyone working in art restoration who could afford that kind of thing."

"Maybe I'm just really fucking good at my job." Kono pulls back, still grinning.

"And maybe I am too." Steve counters, and pulls Kono into his room.

Kono sprawls on the bed while Steve undresses, folding his suit jacket haphazardly and tucking the gun back into his suitcase. She takes off her boots when Steve stands in front of her, and drags her dress over her head, revealing sharp hips and collarbones and what seems like acres of golden skin. She's smirking when Steve manages to meet her eyes, and she reaches for the clasp of her bra one-handed, and beckons to Steve with the other.

Steve goes.

In the morning, Steve wakes up slowly, opening his eyes to the bright sunlight. His body aches in a warm, and pleasant sort of way that lasts until he stretches out one arm and meets nothing but cold sheets. He sits up slowly, taking in the rumpled blankets and indented pillow that still smell faintly of the perfume Kono had been wearing and swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

He makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and maybe to shave too, and it's only when he's wandered back out into his empty hotel room to get dressed that he realizes that the door to his balcony is wide open, and Kono, the beautiful minx, has stolen fucking everything.

His suitcase, which he had left closed and locked in the closet, is sitting on the low sofa in the middle of his room, wide open and mostly empty. He reaches into it in a sort of daze, skimming his hands over the concealed pockets where he keeps weapons and currency. Both are empty. Steve unzips them anyway, just to be sure, but the stacks of euros, his fake passports, plane tickets, silencer, and gun are all missing. So is the heavy pocket watch he had bought on a whim the last time he had been in London.

And most of his clothes.

And the bottle of Glenfiddich he had rolled into his socks.

Steve runs his hands through his hair and takes several deep breaths before turning to the rest of the room. His suit from the night before is still on the chair he'd dumped it on, probably wrinkled beyond belief. His watch and wallet are both gone, but the cheap burner phone that he'd bought before flying to Paris is still there, probably because it's a piece of shit.

Steve sits down heavily on the bed – cold on both sides now – and scrubs his hands over his face.

"Shit," he says with feeling. "Shit. Fuck."

He sighs and then levers himself up to get dressed. He puts his suit back on, shoves the tie into his mostly empty suitcase and goes downstairs with his phone to charm a cup of coffee out of the woman who runs the café on the corner.

When he's caffeinated, and back in his room, he digs the phone out of his pocket, swallows his pride and calls Mary Ann, who picks up with a curt:

"What the fuck do you want?"

"I need a favour."

Mary Ann heaves a sigh.

"I'm on a roof in Texas, waiting for some fucking oil tycoon, I don't have time for your shit, Steve."

"I met a girl and she got the jump on me, and now I'm stranded in Paris," Steve says all at once, like ripping off a band-aid. There's a moment's pause and then Mary Ann has to hand the phone to Danny she's laughing so hard.

It takes about five minutes for her to calm down, during which time Steve glares at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and discovers that Kono stole a pair of his shoes as well. He's somewhat impressed.

"Okay, okay," Mary Ann says finally, hiccupping as she comes back on the line. "So you're stranded in Paris. What the fuck do you want me to do about it?"

"Wire me money so I can get the fuck out of here, sis," Steve snaps.

"No can do brother," Mare says, and Steve is going to strangle her the next time he sees her. "We're going to need to make a pretty speedy exit once we're done here. We're going to ground for a couple weeks, no radio contact, nothing."

"I'm going to strangle you," Steve tells her, and he can hear Mary Ann shrug against the phone. Danny rants in a forced quiet voice in the background and Mary Ann hums into the receiver.

"I've gotta go; our mark just walked out of his meeting. Danny says you deserved it being your usual reckless idiot self and that you should call Jenna."

Steve growls, and Mare hangs up on him.

Steve spends an hour gritting his teeth and cursing younger sisters, asshole best friends/brother-in-laws and beautiful thieving bitches who are great in bed, and then he calls Jenna.

In less than an hour, Jenna sends him the address of a café that they can meet at, and when she turns up she draws Steve into a tight hug and hands over a briefcase that contains identification, plane tickets, credit cards, and a Beretta.

"Jenna," Steve says, snapping the case shut and tucking it under the small table they've settled at. "If Lori wouldn't punch all my teeth out, I would kiss you right now."

Jenna smiles brightly at him, but dims a little at the mention of Lori's name.

"Where is she, anyway?" Steve asks, "You two are usually joined at the hip."

"She's in Warsaw," Jenna says, and pouts. "She'll be back in a week, but that's practically forever. I don't sleep that well when she's not there."

"What is Lori doing in Warsaw?" Steve asks, pushing Jenna's éclair closer towards him and reaching for his latte.

"I'd tell you," Jenna says with a small smile, "but then I'd have to kill you."

Steve shrugs. "That's fair."

Jenna takes an indecently large bite of her éclair and then leans towards Steve with mischief in her eyes. "So. Tell me about the girl who stole all your shit."

Steve groans and covers his face with his hands.

"She was beautiful," he says, "we ran into each other on the Pont de l'Archevêché, and then she spent the night at my hotel, and when I woke up she and all my valuables were gone."

Jenna laughs, a loud and bright sound that makes the people sitting in the tables near theirs look their way.

"Was it worth it?" she asks, after a minute of silence, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

Steve grins at her.

"Oh, absolutely."