Disclaimer: The Avengers are the property of the brilliant Stan Lee…and now 'the Mouse'.
Author's Note: An idea brought on by a second viewing of the Avengers followed by Snow White and the Huntsman, which surprisingly (or not as it included Chris Hemsworth) was not half bad. Hope you find it entertaining.
Summary: In the real world, good did not always win, there was no such thing as magic and fairy godmothers, happy endings were rare and evil was rarely as easily identifiable, as in tales. In the real world, villains rarely ever wore black, unless it was tailored and Armani.
Natasha had once believed in fairytales.
Once long ago, when her life had been full of love and warmth…and of hope and of innocence. Tales her mother had read to her from a well-loved, well-worn book. She could still see its pages, the colorful pictures of castles and dragons and princesses. She remembered when 'happily ever after' had seemed a tangible reality…before the darkness had come.
She had learned quickly that good did not always win, that the world was a hard, cruel place and there was no such thing as magic and fairy godmothers…nor happy endings…and that princesses must learn to save themselves for princes could rarely, if ever, be trusted. Evil was rarely as easily identifiable in reality. Villains hardly ever wore black, unless it was tailored and Armani.
If fairytales had some base in reality, the truth was she fit as well into the category of 'villain' as those whose lives she took. She was no princess…the princesses in the stories were good and pure of heart. She was undeserving of happiness, after all she had done, the lives she had ruined at the command of her former 'masters'.
What about those you have saved?
A faint smile twitched at the corners of her frozen lips as her partner's voice contradicted her. It seemed she was never to be free of Barton's opinions, not even in the privacy of her own thoughts. It was an old argument and one that she still would not, could not, concede. While she did not lament the deaths of those with the blood of innocents on their hands, she still wondered if she was truly any better. Perhaps not a villain, she allowed as a small concession, perhaps a fallen angel.
Her eyes traced the harsh, jagged lines of the cold rock, which lined the steep walls of the canyon. The faint outline of the Duke's castle was rapidly fading into the distance as the river swept her further downstream. Perhaps her current situation was just further proof of her point. In the stories, it was the villain who fell from the walls of the castle, into the dark ravine, and not the hero. Though technically, she had jumped and not fallen. It was a miracle that she had survived the eighty foot fall into the raging waters of the swollen river, and a further miracle that she had managed to surface inches from a passing log. Despite her luck, however, her chances of survival were growing rapidly smaller with each passing minute.
The cold of the river was beginning to creep through the thin protective layer of warmth allotted by her SHIELD issue jumpsuit. It was only a matter of time before hypothermia became a serious issue…in addition to the concussion she was certain she had sustained before her plunge, during the fight with the guards. Natasha bit back a groan as she gripped the branch, sticking out of the log, with her good hand and used the last of her strength to pull her body further onto her makeshift 'raft'. Her efforts left her weak and gasping for breath as the pain in her injured shoulder intensified. She suspected she had dislocated it in the fall.
There was little hope that she would be able to fight the strong current with two good arms, let alone one. Her best chance now was to hold on and hope for calmer waters further downstream. Before she froze to death, or drowned. The cold helped to numb the pain, enough to make it somewhat bearable. She gripped the branch tighter with the frozen fingers of her good hand, and watched as the castle faded fully from view, replaced by the craggy cliffs of the canyon. A slightly hysterical giggle escaped her lips, and Natasha blamed the affects of her concussion on her next thought.
Skin as white as snow…
Her green eyes narrowed, transfixed, as they considered the pale, bluish tint of the hand clutching the branch. Her gaze shifted sluggishly from her hand to the snow, which fell from the sky in large white flakes, and back to her hand as she considered the logic of the phrase. Perhaps 'blue as ice' would have been a more appropriate description…though not quite as poetic...
Lips as red as blood…
Natasha smiled weakly and she wondered if actual blood counted or if it merely referred to a color. While she was certain her mouth was a matching hue of blue to that of her skin, she could feel the warmth of the blood from the gash on her face, and taste its salt as it trickled against her mouth.
Hair as black as night…
A grimace this time. Of all the disguises she had been forced to don, Natasha hated the black hair rinse she had been forced to use the most. She loved the natural reddish color of her hair. Her mother's hair had been a similar shade, the color of the first rays of the sunset…one of the few memories she could still recall and one she cherished. The Duke's preference had wavered toward brunettes, and so the red had had to go.
Snow White…
There the comparison ended. Then again, Snow White had never really been one of her favorites. The princess had always seemed a little too naïve for her taste. After all, the girl had survived near death at the hands of the huntsman by order of her stepmother, had lived in the woods as a fugitive in fear of her life, and had still, against the advice of her wiser friends, accepted a tainted apple from a complete stranger. A prince she had met only once before bestowed a kiss to her 'corpse' and low and behold the spell is broken, as supposedly they lived happily ever after.
At least the prince had arrived in time to save the princess…
A delirious giggle escaped her as the image of Barton, in a brightly colored cape with matching pantaloons, appeared in her mind. It intensified as the image shifted to an image of Phil Coulson with fairy wings and tutu. His trade mark glare of disapproval only served to make her laugh harder. If Barton was the prince in this situation, it was only fitting that Coulson was her 'fairy godmother'…or more likely St. Phil, patron saint of out-of-luck agents… The laugh broke off in a cry as the bruising on her ribs became more apparent. She wished that she had waited for Barton instead of striking out on her own. Time had been of the essence, as always, and Fury would not take no for an answer. She wondered what had happened to her backup. There would be hell to pay when the man returned without her, both from Coulson and Barton.
Her humor faded swiftly as current began to grow swifter, and her heart plunged as she registered a faint roaring sound in the distance. A sound which grew louder by the moment…
Waterfall…
The log began to bob and weave erratically among the eddies, which twirled around the submerged rocks beneath the white water. The shore was far away and the current too strong. It was as unlikely that she would survive the fall. If by some miracle, she managed to avoid the rocks a second time, it was unlikely she would have the strength to swim to safety.
An ironic ending to her tale. Her only regret was that she had not had the chance to say goodbye.
She closed her eyes and gripped the log as tightly as she could as the edge of the falls grew closer.
Thwap
A familiar sound echoed in her ear, and the log jerked beneath her as it suddenly halted in its path. She opened her eyes as spray of icy water splashed across the exposed skin of her face, and smiled faintly as a familiar pair of blue orbs considered her with concern. Her partner returned her smile as he looped a heavy harness around her waist with practiced ease and clipped it to his own. He secured her against his chest and waved a 'good to go' signal at the quiet helicopter which hovered above the river.
As the winch pulled them from the river and toward safety, the last conscious thought that ran through Natasha's mind, before she gave in to the soothing blackness, was that she preferred her partner and a helicopter any day over a prince and a white horse…
A/N: Just a bit of drabble. Hope you enjoyed. As always, I greatly value your feedback.