So I was watching the movie for the 394th time, and I was possessed by the idea of a back story for that line "You know I do" whether one already exists, this is what I imagine happened. So I hope you enjoy, and if you don't, well then this is awkward.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot, but I've been talking to Marvel recently, and despite their refusal to give me more rights, I will not back down until I own Loki…muahahaha _
"You don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in? You know what it's like to be unmade?
"You know that I do."
A memory quickly flashed before his eyes, and he was about to apologize when she shot him a warning glance not to pursue the subject. He knew what was going through her mind, and he noticed that her hands clenched and she shifted slightly. He brought the subject back to Loki, but there was a slight vagueness about her, as if she was somewhere else.
It had been early in the morning after her and Barton's first mission, when they finally shuffled out of the plane, covered in mud and blood. They had just returned from Russia, after successfully killing the vice chairman of the Red Rooms. Natasha staggered into bed and closed her eyes. Raw emotional pain coursed through her veins, making her stomach churn. She laid there quietly for what seemed like hours, before she stumbled out of bed and wandered about the base, eventually collapsing against a cold stone wall. She felt numb, not knowing how to deal with what she had done. She was supposed to be the ice-cold Russian with no heart, not some weakling who went insane over killing somebody. She remembered a petrified-looking girl coming up to her slowly, asking her in a small voice if she was OK. But her words fell on deaf ears, and she soon gave up and walked away. She was soon replaced by a worried Coulson who led her to Fury's office and gently shoved her in. Light flooded into the room, making it annoyingly bright, and she waited impatiently for the Director to turn around. And when he did, he gave her an exhausted look and told her to sit. She did so mechanically, practically falling into the nearest chair. He looked at her expectedly. "I killed my…a…fri…friend….Red-Rooms…I pro...promised…" Her usually smooth voice stumbled over her words, her expression much like that of a lost calf. "Why?" he asked her sharply. She resumed her regular composure as part of her brain took control. "She was taken to a part of the Red Rooms that was run by a psychopathic mind-butcherer. I grew up with her, understand that. Not all of us were bad. Especially her. She refused to kill, she openly spoke of defecting, and so they sent her to Grigori Razin. He reprograms minds. Makes you believe what they want you to believe. He cuts out parts of your memory, puts new ideas in. You come out a completely different person. It takes a few days, weeks even for it to take effect. Depending on how hard you fight to control yourself. She fought for far too long; by the time I got to her…she had suffered far too much. I made her a promise that I would be the one to put her out of her misery. And I did just that. He'll be after me now. Now that he knows that I'm no longer under the protection of the Red Rooms, he'll want my brain in a gold-plated jar on his desk. He's tried to before, but the Red Rooms refused to give up their best agent for science. But they'll be more than happy to hand me over to Razin now. So I have to kill him before he kills me I guess." She finished with a shrug, the soul-crushing sadness now quickly fading, and the reality of her eminent demise now took over her mind. "Do you know what you have to do?" She nodded. "Can you?" "I can sure as hell try." She replied, before getting up and stalking out of his office. She reached her room and scowled at its disarray. For having so few possessions, her room should've been much neater than its current state. She disregarded the mess and slumped at her desk and booted up the standard laptop that had been given to her on her first day. She spent the next hour writing out her case report, her fingers flying on the keyboard. She then took a scalding hot shower, dressed in her uniform, and found her way to the medical ward.
She was ushered into a private room where a fat, folksy, and boisterous doctor greeted her. She smiled, revealing blindingly white teeth. She gestured to the chair that sat opposite of her, and Natasha sat down slowly. "Now what do we have here?" adjusted her glasses and looked down at her chart. "Gunshot wound…nasty business…various lacerations…possible concussion...no infections so far, it seems. Which is good, so there's no need to lop off your arm yet dear." She peered at Natasha, squinting slightly. "Hmm. Ya seems tough enough. Now give me your arm dear, palm up… there we go." She whipped syringe out of her pocket, fitted it with a needle and had it inserted into a vein and out before even the slightest bit of pain began to register. "No pain right? That's why they give me to all the best agents. Can't have them complaining about sore injection sites while their trying to take down the baddies now can we? There you go dear, just a small bandage to make it feel better. I'm all for the placebo effect, ya know. Hmm. Nasty scratch you got there. What do you think…butterfly bandage? Yes that will work quite nicely." She indicated to the gaping wound at the crown of Romanoff's head. The doctor seemed to talk directly to Natasha, but she spoke so rapidly that she really could only be talking to herself. She swabbed a cleansing wipe over the cut, and then deftly placed the bandage over the wound. "There we go dear. All cleaned up. Those are your two main wounds I would hope…anything worse than that and I would send you off to surgery!" She chuckled, leaving Natasha to feel slightly bewildered. "Now that shot will make sure that you won't get an infection, nasty, nasty, nasty those are. I think you being a super agent and all you already removed the bullet?" Natasha weakly nodded her head. "I don't know why they teach you that. As long as it didn't hit a major artery, it's not vitally important that you pull the bullet out. But ah well, at least you didn't make it any worse. Probably felt better to have a white-hot piece of lead out of your little shoulder anyway didn't it dear?" She smiled again and inspected the wound before sighing dejectedly. "You are very interesting, and very uninteresting at the same time Miss Romanoff. You come in here with injuries that would be life-threatening to any other agents and then just sit here looking almost bored to death. Disappointing indeed dear. I'll assume that that fancy potion-serum-gunk in you will take care of these in record time? Back up and around tomorrow I bet. Well…I see no reason for you to stick around…keep both of 'em clean ya hear? Don't go messin' up my work either because they feel better. Just take it easy darling. Now go rest up, or look at those funny little cats with the misspelled captions on the Internet. A nice good sleep and a good, long laugh are always the best medicines, as I always say. And I'm rarely wrong. Now go on, get outta here dear." She pushed her out of the office and the sound of her madly scribbling down notes on her chart was cut off.
A dainty, but tight-lipped nurse led her down a stretch of hallway, where she was once again ushered into a room, pushed back on a table, and was given a CT scan. The nurse drummed her fingers on the machine, giving the occasional sigh. As soon as Natasha reappeared, the nurse gruffly hauled her into a wheelchair, and quickly brought her up to Natasha's room. "Don't do anything stupid, scan results should be up to you in a couple of hours." She dumped her outside her room and speed-walked away.
So there you are, lovely people, I hope you enjoyed. I will try my very best to get a second chapter up soon! In the meantime, R&R, and remember that I enjoy your comments and constructive criticism immensely, those who do will receive a fire-breathing llama in an Iron-Man suit.