A huddle of kitchen staff walked in and Natasha Romanoff immediately dropped down and hid herself in a nearby kitchen cupboard. She closed her eyes, and for a second she was six- years- old again, hiding in one of the many spacious kitchen drawers of the Red Room's kitchens, hugging on to a loaf of bread tightly, flinching at the sound of the drawer above her being opened and the sharp cussing of the Red Room's kitchen staff, hoping and hoping that she would not be found.
Meals were scarce and inconsistent in the Red Room. Ma'am told them that it was a test of endurance, a way of preparing them for their future lives. Some followed her orders and gradually weakened until one day, when they were overpowered by their opponent during a fighting session, Ma'am would run her eyes across their skinny limbs and hollowed cheeks and give the nod for the other girl to kill. Others opted to sneak food out of the kitchen and hoard it, Natasha being one of them. It was essential for survival. Yet there were risks, as the punishment for those who were caught was severe- they would have to skip a Treatment.
The Treatment, which consisted of two procedures, was of utmost importance for everyone in the Red Room. The first procedure was the injection, which physically strengthened them. The second procedure was the Machine. It stopped them from thinking too much over events, minimizing distractions and strengthening them mentally in the process. Missing a treatment weakens the one being punished greatly, making it the equivalent of a death sentence for those whom the Red Room consider to be disposable. It nearly happened to Natasha once, and it was an encounter that she would never forget.
The kitchen staff finally left and she squirmed out of her hiding place, gathered her loot and left SHIELD's kitchen. Her little mission was frankly unnecessary- SHIELD had a canteen that she was welcome to access anytime. But after all, old habits had always been hard to break.
It had been one week since Natasha Romanoff joined SHIELD, but Clint had never seen her come down to the canteen to eat. And that was the reason why he was currently crouching on top of her wardrobe, waiting patiently for her return. Finally, the door opened as she slipped into her room, opening up her jacket and allowing a loaf of bread and a number of canned goods to fall onto her bunk. Suddenly, she spun around and threw a can of tuna at him. He failed to duck in time and it hit him in the face. He yelped in pain.
'Barton,' she stated coldly, bristling with hostility, 'Get out of my room.'
She still didn't trust him, and considering everything she had been through, he didn't blame her for it. He jumped down from the wardrobe, landing beside her.
'How long is that-' he gestured at the food, 'Supposed to last you for?'
She narrowed her eyes at him as she answered reluctantly, 'Two weeks.'
'You do realize we have a canteen downstairs with, you know, food of a much higher quality?'
'Yes, I know that.'
'Then, why-'
Natasha moved fluidly across the room, standing protectively in front of her food.
Clint sighed, 'Look, I'm not going to take away your food or anything. Its just- would you like to come down and have dinner in the canteen with me?' She was too thin for her own good, and now he knew why. And despite how her bodily conditions had never hampered her performance in any way, for the sake of her wellbeing, he was not going to allow this to continue.
Natasha noted the determination displayed on Clint Barton's face, decided not to waste her efforts disagreeing with him, and followed him out of the room.
They stepped into the canteen, and immediately the chatter subsided. Natasha could feel their eyes burning into her. Such a reactions was somewhat expected, but the reminder that she was a monster hurt her more than she expected it to. Canned bacon on dry bread had never seemed as appeasing as it did now, and she involuntarily backed away from the doors of the canteen. She felt Clint grip onto her arm as he steered her towards the salad bar as he hissed, 'Ignore them. They don't know a thing about you.'
As if you do, she mused bitterly as she reached for the lettuce.
Admittedly, the food was heavenly. If it hadn't been for the whispering behind her, this would have been the best day of her life. The whispering subsided as she sensed someone approaching them from behind her.
'Get out,' the agent whose name she didn't know of snarled at her.
Clint glared at him menacingly, 'Back off, Truslow.'
'Oh Barton, you trying to impress some girl to get in her panties?'
The next thing Agent Truslow knew, Clint Barton had vaulted across the table and slammed him against the wall, 'Tell me why you have a problem with Natasha Romanoff eating in our canteen.'
'You know her history as well as we all do. She doesn't deserve to be in this canteen with us. She shouldn't even be alive.'
Natasha looked to her side and saw Clint clench his fist. She could tell that he was doing all he could to stop himself from punching Agent Truslow in the face. 'She is not the monster the lot of you think she is. She was a victim. She was brainwashed as a child. Tortured. Starved. Forced to kill. But she survived, and was willing to join the good guys once she had the chance to. I'm not defending her because I have a crush on her. I'm defending her because I think she deserves all this- good food, SHIELD training, a second chance at life- more than any one of you in this room do. So, as I said, Truslow, back off.' He released his hold on Truslow then and sat back down, completely disregarding the dark look the other agent threw at him before slinking back to his seat.
'You didn't have to do that,' Natasha commented drily.
Clint did not respond. They had the rest of their dinner in silence.
It was later when Clint dropped her off outside her room that he finally spoke, 'I'm sorry for what I did back there. I knew that you were perfectly capable of fending for yourself, but Truslow was being a dick and so that happened.'
She looked up at him, her expression imperceptible, 'Did you mean it? Everything that you said back in the canteen?'
'Every word.' He added tentatively, 'Would you be interested in having breakfast with me tomorrow?'
She nodded silently.
'All right then. Good night, Natasha.'
'It's Agent Romanoff,' she replied as she slipped into her room and closed the door.