It started in her hands. No matter how hard she clenched them into fists, they were always the first to start shaking. Once they had started it spread further towards her torso. Natasha crossed her arms against her chest as she made it down the hall. She could feel them trembling and knew it was only a matter of time before it became noticeable. Before she lost control. And Natasha Romanoff did not lose control.
She quickened her pace as she walked. She had to resist the urge to run, knowing she'd draw glances if she did. The rest of the team may say they understood, or sympathized with what she was going through, or any of the other sentiments she'd heard over the years. But they didn't understand. No one did. Now her breathing grew heavy. The hallway blurred slightly but she kept moving. When she finally reached her room she pushed the door open and immediately shut it behind her. The images began flashing through her mind as she sank to the floor.
Screams ..people running…bodies hitting the floor…and the blood…so much blood.
The flashes of memories hit her consciousness harder than any bullet and she all she could do was sit there and take it. Sit there while her mind was assaulted again and again. But that wasn't the worst part. She could handle the images, the screams. She could handle the shaking. It was the helplessness that she couldn't take. The helplessness and the fear and the regret. Whatever else she may be, whatever else anyone thought of her, she had done awful things that could not be changed. They were done and in the past. Which meant that Natasha could only relive the memories over and over until they left her shaking and empty.
Natasha gripped her knees harder when the image of her parents surfaced. It was never them smiling or happy. All she ever saw was the blood and their mangled faces, twisted into expressions of horror. She began to sweat when she remembered her first training session in the Red Room. How she couldn't walk for two weeks.
But when she saw that image—the one she always dreaded—her body shook uncontrollably and the pressure began to build. This image always hit her so much harder than the others. An agent in doctor's scrubs. A hand holding a needle. A nurse telling her they were helping her. Someone holding her down as she struggled. Telling her it wouldn't hurt. Telling her she wouldn't want kids anyway.
That was when she finally broke. Everything she had been holding inside came pouring out and she screamed as the pain hit her. She screamed until her throat was raw and her arms were bleeding from where her nails had dug in.
Afterwards Natasha lay on the floor, counting the number of heartbeats until her pulse slowed down.
There had been a time where she would ask herself how much more she could take of this. If it was even worth it to stay alive. But now she had a reason to keep going. She had something to keep her strong even when she literally had nothing except for her emptiness and her regret. She had people who cared. People who counted on her. And she had a purpose.
She had gotten red in her ledger, and she'd be damned if she would go down without wiping it out.
