Then Everything Went Black
Summary: Clint manages to knock Natasha out during their fight in the helicarrier before fulfilling Loki's personal threats towards her. Warning: Character death/s.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, Hawkeye, Black Widow or Loki.
Warning: It is not particularly graphic or explicit but it does include description of rape and mentions of underage rape… Also, contains one, possibly two – it's left ambiguous, non-canon character death/s. Enjoy.
A/N: This is not really AU but it is in the sense that I have written about what would have happened had Clint over powered and kidnapped Natasha during their fight.
Natasha didn't know where she was or what had happened. All she could feel was the cold, smooth metal beneath her. Stirring from her sleep, she could feel she was lying on her side, hair draped over her face, body feeling weak and helpless. Her muscles felt heavy, dead weight under her, as she shifted her arms with all her remaining strength until she was on her back.
Opening her eyes, the room around her was dark. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling above her surrounding her in a halo of dull yellow light. Her hair still hung limply in her eyes as she shifted, tried to move from where she lay. She wasn't shackled, wasn't tied down, her wrists were free and her feet hung off the edge of whatever she lay on top. However, the feeling was familiar, the dead weight, the dizziness, the inability to move was all too familiar to her, but not something she had felt recently, more when she was a child, a teenager. This was the feeling of being drugged, something foreign coursing through her system, immobilising her, making her complacent, losing all the control she had over herself.
Where was she, what was she doing here, how did she get here and what was happening to her was all she could focus on as she tried to escape. She wriggled around, trying to shift her weight from arm to arm as she tried to prop herself up and lift her body off the cold, metallic table. Instead, a creaking came from the opening of a metal door somewhere around her as someone entered the room, hidden in the shadow as she could see nothing beyond her halo of light.
'You are up,' the voice was muffled, distant but still familiar, still hauntingly familiar to her as it grew closer. 'I am glad.'
'What… what is going on here?' she tried to speak, her words coming out strange, inconsistent.
'You will see,' the voice said as the owner stepped into the light, illuminating their features and through the blur of her own eyes, she could see him - his tall, broad physique, his dirty blonde hair but not his eyes. The sharp, piercing blue was not his. His were grey, cloudy and mysterious – these were clear, crystal, shining in the light that surrounded him. It was him, it was her Clint but at the same time – it wasn't. It was something different, something cold, something missing.
She could hear herself whisper his name, trying to reach out towards him, her arm not moving from her side as she tried to lift it. 'What did you do?'
He paced around her, disappearing behind her head as he looped around what seemed to be a metallic examination table, situated in the centre of a dark, isolated room.
'I… relaxed you, stopped you from fighting back,' she could feel his hand drag itself across her arm as he continued walking around her. The feeling sent involuntary shivers through her body, blood coursing through her veins at such speed as her breath hitching at ever touch.
'Why? Why are you doing this?'
'Because you are trying to stop him,' Loki, 'you and SHIELD, Captain America, Stark, the Hulk. You are stopping his cause. He is trying to free you. Free everyone and you can't see that.'
He was standing at her feet now, looking down at her, eyes trailing up across her body.
'Free us? Like he freed you?' she spat at him with all her remaining strength.
In a heartbeat he was on top of her, body weight pushing down on hers, pinning her to the table. His hands reached for her wrists, pulling them up, above her head. She shifted, drugs still numbing her whole body, trying to escape his grasp but his knees tightened around hips, stopping any movement.
Leaning in, his lips hovered inches from her ear. 'He has freed me. He's shown me what the world will be like when everyone is free, free from this myth that everyone is equal and fair. That everyone has rights and is their own man. The world is nothing like that. We are animals. Animals led around by a false government, who preach our freedom but do everything to take it away. The world would be better, we would be better, humanity would be better if we accepted our fate, accept that we were meant to be ruled.'
His voice was cold, calculated - it mimicked Loki's like a mantra that had been forced into him, forced to make him believe. She'd believed something similar once. She'd had someone force a mission statement into her before, a code, an act, a rule. That everything she did, she did for her country, that she fought for her country, killed for her country – all without questioning.
His weight on top of her body was trapping her, the paralytic drugs stopping her from moving, his warm breath upon her face, all of this shook memories deep inside she never wanted to face again, memories that were slowly crawling to the surface after being hidden for so long. Being trapped, the lack of control, the drugs coursing through her body, it was everything they used to do to her. Everything they did to stop her from fighting back. Everything she now feared.
She looked up but this time it wasn't Clint looking down on her, the face was older, more worn, grey beard hiding fat cheeks. She wanted to scream but her voice was lost inside of her. The voice of a child. An eight year old girl, recently orphaned, dragged into a secret scientific experiment to create the perfect spy. But nothing was perfect about it. A group of twenty girls each taught how to fight, how to torture, how to extract information and leave no survivors. They were taught to use their bodies as weapons. But they were also used. Used for the pleasures of the people that told them they were protecting them. And they could do nothing to stop them. They were drugged, always drugged, so they couldn't fight back as the men, always old men, stripped their young, fragile bodies, laid them down and fucked them. There was no crying, no screaming, no shouting for help – that was the rule.
She felt the pain before she heard the loud crack of the palm across her cheek. Opening her eyes again, this time it was Clint. Still not the Clint she knew, still the cold, merciless Clint with the crystal blue eyes and the heart of Loki.
'Do you remember it? Is it all coming back now?'
She was still lost and confused - reality and memories blurring together as she fought to regain some sense of composure. 'What?' she managed in a soft whisper.
'Are the memories coming back to you… Natalia?' her name lingering on his lips as he dragged it out. He'd never called her that, never called her that since she became Natasha. 'Do you remember what they did to you? How they took away your innocence - made you into a killer. Taught you how to use your body to get what you want while at the same time using yours for their own pleasure.' One of his hands released hers as it traced down the curves and contours of her body, down her arms, to her breasts to her waist and then her hips. 'Do you remember the way they drugged you, gagged you then fucked you?'
She could feel herself starting to cry, feel the cold drip of a lone tear as it escaped the corner of her eye as she shut them as tight as she could. She had lost it, lost all sense of strength, hope, survival. She knew there was no getting out of this.
Through her closed eyes she could feel his hand move from her hips to grab her face. 'Look at me,' he said, fingers clenching down harder on her jaw. 'Look at me!'
She timidly opened her eyes, taking in soft gasps to stop herself from crying again.
'Is it working?' his voice suddenly softer and kinder. 'Is this everything you ever feared?'
Of course it was, she thought. He knew it was because she'd told him everything. He knew what she feared the most – her past. Being trapped, the loss of control, not being able to fight back – that was what she feared. But she wasn't going to tell him that. In the silence of her mind all she could hear were Loki's words echoing; I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you - slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. She kept quiet, mouth shut, eyes trained on him.
'Fine,' was all he said, before pulling himself off her. She watched as he moved across the room, the sound of metal against metal somewhere behind her before he turned back, syringe in hand. 'Let bring back some of these memories then shall we.'
Resting his hand in the dip between her breasts, he tugged at the zipper of her catsuit, pulling it down, opening it up. Pushing it off one shoulder, he grazed his callous thumb against the smoothness of her skin before plunging the needle deep into her arm. She felt it tickle as it pricked her skin and suddenly her head felt light, her whole body, relaxing beneath her. A sensation once lost, came flooding back to her as she lost all control over her body. The sights and sounds around her began blurring into one big haze. She could make out the shadow of Clint standing above her, looking down, as she began climbing a high.
'Is it coming back now?' he asked, leaning in close to her, his voice echoing throughout her mind and the empty room. 'That feeling of not being in control - does it scare you? Can you fight back?' Suddenly she felt it again, his palm slapping her across her cheek. She could feel the burn even through the numbness spreading around her body. 'Come one. Fight.' He slapped her again but all she could do was lie there, helplessly lolling her head from side to side trying to get rid of the haze that clouded her mind.
'Please…' was all she managed to say, feeling the cool tears drip down her cheeks burning a path along her skin. 'Stop.'
Before she could do or say anything more, she felt the weight of his body press against hers again, his hands pulling the catsuit further and further down her body, until she was exposed to the cool air around them. He sat, straddling her hips, pulling her hands once again above her head, holding them down. This time she felt cool metal clasp against her wrist as he handcuffed her to the metal table, pulling her arms taunt in their sockets. He lent in close to her again.
'I am going to fuck you,' he narrated, one hand sliding down her body reaching her waist. 'I am going to fuck you like how they used to at the Red Room,' his spoke slowly, hands moving further down to push her catsuit past her hips and down her thighs.
All she could do was shut her eyes, block out all her senses, focus on anything but him because deep inside she wanted this. Not in this way, but wanted him, she always wanted him. But missions and protocol and everything in between stopped them and now, this was not how she imagined anything between them.
With her eyes shut she could still feel everything around her. The touch of his hand as he ran it up her thigh. The way his warm breath hitched against her skin as he reacted to the touch of her. The sound of a zipper and the shimmy of material. She bit her lip; she knew what was coming next. With no hesitation, no mercy and no warning, she felt him press into her. Felt him fill her with no kindness, no delicacy, no tenderness but rampant rage as he thrust within her. No stopping as he gained speed. She wasn't ready, wasn't prepared, wasn't expecting such harsh feelings as he treated her, quite literally, like a piece of meat.
Through her mind, memories came flooding back, the feeling of her young body being crushed under the weight of her handler as he fucked her hard, not caring about the tortures he was putting the young girl through. The ache and pain, feeling him pushing his way through her, as he pounded away with the mere goal of releasing himself. There was no thought, no concern, no sympathy for the small child that was being brutally tortured and used against her will. These were all memories Natasha kept hidden away, never spoke of, never discussed, never even revisited. The fear, the pain and anguish she felt from being so small, so helpless, with no control or way to fight back. That was what she feared the most and here, now, her past was being thrust upon her last moments.
She could still feel him pushing himself deep into her, trusting at a frantic pace. She could hear her cries and screams of pain echo throughout the empty room as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop the sound that escaped anyway. There was no pleasure for her, only the searing pain of him pulling in and out of her, both hands pushing down, fingers making their marks on her pale skin, the rawness of flesh on flesh as he tore through her. Then she could feel him nearing, the tension of his body growing before, without warning, he released himself within her and she could feel his body convulsing against her as he collapse, well spent. There was no pleasure for her, no climatic high, no tingling sensation but the scorching pain as he pulled out of her but still lay, as dead weight, upon her.
The moment past like years before he pushed himself off of her, the familiar sound of a zipper being reassembled rung in the air. But the next thing she knew, a thin silver of metal was running its way lightly along her skin, from her thigh, across her wait, up her stomach, between the cavity of her breasts before resting at the base of her throat.
'How about now?' his voice rang in the air; the metal pressing deeper into her soft skin. 'Are you still afraid?' The tip of the metal pressed harder, breaking the skin and a small pool of warm blood gathered at the base of her neck. 'If I press harder and more to one side,' he moved the knife around to the side of her neck, her pulse quickening with fear, 'I can sit back and watch you bleed out; a slow death. Or maybe I should show you mercy?'
Her body shivered at the touch of the metal blade against her skin. She could feel her voice come back to her as she opened her eyes. Her voice shaking, unstable, hoarse and foreign to her own ears as she said, 'Why are you doing this? Why me? Why torture me? Why don't you just kill me? I don't have anything to offer you.'
Clint pulled the blade off of her neck, his cold, blue eyes staring deep into hers. 'Why you?' he said. 'Of course, you – who else? Because I've had this burning desire, this unsatisfied desire to fuck you since I met you. Don't mistake human nature for love and romance. I am just like you. You once said love is for children. Well, there is no love here just burning passion and desire and the uncontrollable urge to fuck. You think you can saunter about and no one will notice you – everyone notices you. I fucking noticed you… and I know you knew. But you did it anyway… just to taunt me… just because you could. There is no other reason for you to be here, I don't need you, you have no use to Loki – you know nothing. This, all this, was for me.'
'You are a fucking bastard,' she spat out at him, the drugs slowly wearing off but still keeping her somewhat sedated. Before she knew it, before she could register anything, his fist came down on her in a punch. Her head throbbed, her cheek went numb and she could feel the blood escape her split lip. 'You are fucking merciless. You, Loki, all of it. Your humanity has been ripped out of you and you are just left as an empty shell. I know Clint, the real Clint. I knew he wanted me, physically but I also knew him well enough he wanted me emotionally as well. That was his greatest weakness – emotions. You… you are nothing. You can't lie to me about him because I know him.'
This time the punch went to her stomach. Her body tried to recoil in reaction to the impact but she couldn't. She was trapped – her arms pulled above her head, her wrists bruising against the metal cuffs, her legs trapped under his weight. She could feel the searing pain run through her - the feeling, the need to retch and heave whatever left over lunch she had from days ago. Her head was still spinning, the drugs still blurring the lines of reality together.
'You can't taunt me,' she managed to say, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. 'You are nothing but weak.'
'Weak?' he scoffed out as he landed another punch into her and this time she felt the bile rise to the back of her throat, sour and acidic against her dry tongue. 'Let's see about that.'
He leaned over her, stretching out to release her wrists from the metal cuffs. Then he pulled her up, sat her upright and roughly pulled up her catsuit before pushing her off the metal table. The cold, concrete floor slammed against her.
'Let's put it to the test then. The better man. The stronger man. FIGHT ME!' he shouted, kicking her in the ribs as she lay on the floor.
The drugs still weakened her but she summoned her remaining strength to push herself off the floor. But not before she was kicked to the ground again. Clint's metal toe capped boot making contact with her, flinging her across the room.
'You think me weak. Look at yourself,' his arrogance was more obvious in his mindless state. 'The great Black Widow. KGB Soviet spy. All your training and you are still nothing.'
She managed to make it to her knees before Clint's manly stride crossed the threshold towards her. Grabbing her by the lapels of her catsuit, he pulled her to feet, pushing her against the slick, wet brick wall behind her crushing her against it, pushing the wind out of her lungs.
Using his grip on her suit as leverage, she lifted her legs planting her heels hard against his torso forcing him backwards. The impact left her sliding down the wall and him wheezing to get the breath, which was kicked out of him, back.
He gave a laugh, a maniacal chuckle that echoed in the empty room. 'Feisty,' he said.
Using the wall for support, Natasha rose to her feet, her head still spinning, her body still weak. She watched him take several steps forward before lunging herself at him, propelling herself off the wall, aiming a punch square at his jaw… except it didn't reach him.
This time she definitely felt it before she saw it as she collapsed into his arms. At first it was just a prick, like the needle breaking the skin. Then, when he twisted the knife that was thrust into her side, she felt the pain shoot through her body. But she couldn't scream, her body reacting to the shock in silence, only letting out a small gasp as she fell to the floor.
Clint kept his arms around her though, the whole time cradling her body against his as she lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. All he could remember was pulling out the knife he kept hidden and secured at the side of his boot, before plunging it into her as she came towards him, pressed the tip of the knife deep, between her bottom two ribs, until the hilt stopped it from going any further. Then, as his training had taught him, to inflict the most pain and damage, he twisted it.
He watched her blank, emotionless eyes, her parted, blood encrusted lips, her chest rising and falling in short rasps as she tried to take in her last breath but failed. The blood was pooling out of the wound, drenching her catsuit and dripping red puddles into the grey concrete floor. Suddenly, he was hyper aware of his actions, his surrounding, the lifeless body in his arms.
'Well done,' a voice appeared somewhere behind him – Loki. 'You did well, Barton - just as I promised.'
'What?' his voice wasn't as stern as it was before. It wavered and fluttered as he felt tears well up behind his eyes as he looked down at his dying partner. He'd done this. He'd killed her. He couldn't control what he was doing but he could see everything. He could feel everything – even the lustrous orgasm that filled him when he'd raped her. He knew that he'd raped her, beaten her and now killed her.
'I promised her you would kill her. I promised her that I would let you watch as she died... before I killed you.'
'No,' was all he managed as he realised what was happening around him. His hand rested on her cheek, brushing away a tear she'd managed to shed in her last moments. Her mattered red hair was pressed against her forehead, her arm slung across her torso – she was so small and lifeless in his arms.
'Oh yes,' Loki said, taking several steps forwards towards him, sceptre in hand pointed directly at Clint.
'No,' he said again, this time more forceful and demanding. 'I am in control now.' He stood, leaving Natasha in a pool of her own blood on the floor, as he reached down to his holster attached to his thigh and pulled out his gun, aiming it directly at Loki.
He stopped his pursuit and laughed, 'You foolish human – you can't kill me.'
'No? Clint questioned. 'Fine.'
Moving the gun away from Loki, he pressed it against his skin under his chin as he watched Loki's eyes change in shock.
'What are you doing?' he asked head tilted to one side curiously.
'If I can't kill you… then to hell am I letting you kill me.'
There was a ringing in the air, an echo and a flash of light… then everything went black.
A/N: This ending is a little too Romeo and Juliet – it disturbs me… Also, the whole piece is a little sadistic – I worry for my health sometimes.
There are quite a few things wrong with this piece, things that seem implausible or just plain out of place… but hey, it's FF – I'll get over it.
For the record - the things Natasha is intimately afraid of: being drugged, not being in control of herself, not being in control of the situation, not being able to fight back, being helpless, remembering her times in the Red Room.