The Wrong Business
She was a spy, but she was a soldier. She was a women, but she was a tool. Lastly Natasha Romanoff was heaven and hell combined into one, fighting a war that no one can win; a war against herself.
Ever since she kissed Steve on the cheek, and handed him that file her life's been a wreck. The gunshot wound on her shoulder was still tender as she told Steve to call Sharon because honestly she wasn't sure if she would ever see him again, and though she hated to admit it, that very thought pained her to no end. Fury was alive and off to Europe, Maria would be working for Stark, at least until she tried to kill him, and Steve had Sam to help him find his former best friend. They would all be fine without her, and she didn't know if that made her feel grateful or like she was slowly disappearing despite all her covers being thrown out into the open.
In the beginning of her "vacation" things were going okay. She visited a small village in South America for some peace, went to a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean to relax, though she didn't wear a bikini while tanning on the beach, and she even went to Russia to hopefully come to terms with her past that she tried so hard to run from. Sure it was hard at first to watch all these normal people living without the worry that someone would recognize them and try to kill them, and it was even harder to pretend to act like one, but she spent her whole life learning to adapt, being trained to blend in with the crowd, so this was nothing new. Though there was this pain in her gut telling her that all this new anxiety wasn't because she had to act like she was normal, but because she wished she was one.
It all started when she was at a bar somewhere in Europe. Someone bought her a drink, so Natasha accepted it, but not before secretly making sure it wasn't spiked or drugged or poisoned. Accepting a drink was fine, it was nothing really, but when the man that bought it for her put his hand around her waist and asked her out, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from kicking him in the balls. She declined politely saying that she was already in a relationship, but the man wouldn't take no for an answer. Natasha spent the rest of her night changing all her fake ID's and burning all the evidence that she was ever there. She pretended not to care about her split lip or the blood or her shirt from the bloody nose she gave that man. She ignored the slight shake in her hands as she zipped her suitcase, and she tried so hard not to think about all the things that could have went wrong if she wasn't a trained assassin. She failed.
About a month later she was staying at this hotel in Northern Mexico when someone recognized her. She had no idea who he was, though she wasn't surprised because all her past memories of the true horrors of the Red Room were probably all brainwashed out of her. He wasn't a very large man, but he had a grin that sent unwanted chills through her body, and eyes that reminded her of a pool during winter: cold and empty. Natasha tried to make her way back to her hotel room to gather up all her belongings and make her escape, but she was already made, and he knew that's she knew too. She made her way to the alley outside of the hotel so that if things did go south she wouldn't go to prison.
She could feel warm breath on the back of her neck as the man whispered "It's been too long Natalie."
He stabbed her in the leg, she punched him in the gut. He put his filthy hands around her neck and just as her vision was beginning to go fuzzy, she hit him over the head with the butt of her gun. Natasha aimed it at his head, while he kneeled in front of her looking too happy for a man that was about to die.
"I hear you've been working for Hydra all these years, Natalie," he said in a devilish voice.
"That's not true," she said gripping the gun tighter. "I was doing good."
"No Natalie, you were only doing the dirty work like you always have been. Nothing has changed, you are no better than me. At least I know what I am fighting for," he said and she snapped.
One bullet, two bullets, eight bullets, she fired until her gun ran out.
Later that night when she woke up in a cold sweat despite the unbearable heat, and ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach, she blamed it on the spicy Mexican food she ate for dinner, though she knew that would be a lie. She turned on the dim lights and looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She could see bruises that looked like fingers beginning to form around her neck and the stab wound on her leg only a faint reminder of who she was.
Natasha thought of Steve and what a great person he was. He saved her worthless life, and she owed him so much more. She hadn't talked to him since she saw him in the graveyard months before, and she wondered if he changed at all. If he changed his hair, or grew a beard or found his place in the world yet. She remembered their conversation in the 'borrowed' car as they made their way to New Jersey, and how she said she didn't trust anyone, and he said that that was a hard way to live, but she said it was a good way to stay alive. It wasn't till now that she realized she was wrong. It wasn't a good way to stay alive – it was only a good way to stay broken.
She looked into the mirror one last time and remembered how much she hated Mexico.
It had been nine months since she last saw Steve, since she last was clearing her ledger only to find out that she was really pouring more red into it, since she last smiled and didn't think about the consequences. That feeling of maybe being just a fraction of a hero, like the way she felt in the battle of New York felt so far away.
She was no longer on vacation, she was on the run, but her life was now in slow motion. Every time someone stared at her for just a little more than the acceptable amount she had to get a new cover. Every time she saw someone from her past she had to kill them to stay alive. Natasha wanted nothing more then that sense of security, but it seemed that any sense of normality had washed away with the lies. She felt naive for believing that maybe she had a chance to find herself only to discover that she will never change, and that she was still that little lost girl with nowhere to run.
She was hiding out in Brazil after having to kill one of the men that trained her only a day earlier. Two of her ribs were broken and she had a deep burn on her left arm, but she hadn't felt pain in a while. She had gone numb. There was a knock on the door of the cheep apartment she was renting out until she recovered. Natasha grabbed her gun – that now becoming a routine of hers, and she aimed it at the door.
"Nat it's me, Steve." Said the almost unrecognizable voice.
She half walked, half limped to the door, only opening it slightly so that he couldn't see the condition she was in.
"How did you find me?" she asked as she scanned his face for any sign that this was all a dream, or some sick trap.
"It's pretty easy to find someone who leaves a trail of bodies behind them," he said with a slight grin.
"You have any luck finding Barnes?" she asked.
"We're getting there. You have any luck finding yourself?" he said back with a raised eyebrow.
"I've reached a few dead ends but – but I'm getting there."
"Well slow and steady wins the race, you know?" he said.
"I didn't think that sayings been around that long," she said teasingly.
"Very funny," he said. "You take care of yourself, and just know I could always use an extra hand if you get bored doing whatever you seem to be doing here."
"You're in the wrong business if you don't want to get bored Rogers," Natasha said with a laugh.
Steve smiled and as he started to walk away Natasha said "You find anyone special yet?"
"Not yet. She's a little too busy setting me up on dates and kicking ass to realize it yet, but she's smart, and I have good patience," Steve said smiling.
"I hear seventy years of sleep will do that to you," Natasha responded.
"I still know how to text, and it'd be nice to hear from you a little more than every nine months just to make sure you're still alive."
"Trust me, I'm not ready to go down just yet."
"You're in the wrong business if you trust anyone Romanoff."
"Shut up and walk away before I make you feel as old as you are," she said with a slight chuckle.
"I wouldn't let anyone else do the honors," he said, and Natasha had a slight feeling that he was right.
She went to bed that night realizing that even though no one wins in war it's a lot easier to stay alive when you're not alone, and maybe just maybe with the expanding feeling in her chest, she wasn't alone any more either, and that might be the only thing in her life that she was thankful for right now, and that was the truth.
Thanks for reading. This movie is my life. Feel free to request any romanoger fics or simply Black Widow ones and I'd be happy to do them:)