Hello fellow procrastinators. Here is an update; I will try to update this story at least 2 times per week. Basically just leave me a review or PM to tell me what you think of the plot line so far.
2 Days later:
"She hasn't woken up yet Phil, I think Banner give her too much… Thing, the sleepy thing."
I held my com next to my ear, waiting for a reply. Sure, I was supposed to be supervising the new recruits, seeing who would succeed, who wouldn't. I couldn't be bothered though. Not when Nat wasn't awake yet.
"Clint, she will wake up within a few hours and she'll be fine. You know how the repressors work. She'll wake up, with no memory of the accident, probably the past few days, so you're going to have to inform her, okay?"
"Got it Phil, and thanks."
I turned off my com and made my way into the medical ward. I hated the place, so did Tasha. For different reasons of course. Myself? Because of experiments to enhance my archery skills. Natasha? Well, we all know why she does.
I knew that she would be kept in isolation ward 3. In case she lashed out at medical attendants, the other guy was there to stop her. Essentially, Bruce was babysitting.
The door way was wide, and slightly short for my liking. But as the glass doors slid apart, none of that really mattered anymore. Nat was awake.
I could hear her now.
"It's a fucking television remote; can't you just pass the damn thing to me?"
I laughed. And her head whipped around to face me.
"Barton, please hand me the remote. She looked at the attendant with her widow mask in full motion. "You may leave now."
The attendant, Mary if my memory serves me correct, scampered away like a banshee.
I chuckled.
"So, what's life like in the slow lane Nat? What do you remember?"
"Bullets, arrows, the targets were hit? Am I correct?"
"Yes, Chekov went down, you hit him in the cranium."
She grimaced.
"Survivors?"
"None." Her mask went up again, but I'd been around Natasha long enough to tell what she was really feeling, and it sure as hell wasn't pretty.
Russia, she was remembering Russia. The room, the people.
Clint remembered that there was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than 8 at the time. Natasha had caught her sneaking food from the kitchens. Natasha didn't have to, she wasn't told to. She held the gun to the girls head, made her apologize and then Natasha pulled the trigger.
She was praised for her work. She became the favorite pupil, the best candidate for the black widow program. Natasha was eleven. She was nine when Ivan took her. She was nine when her life ended.
I looked at Natasha, glad that I had stopped her before it was too late. But that was how she lived, for ten years that was what she did. She would laugh in the face of death. I knew for sure, I read her file.
There was good reason for her not to talk to me. So I merely sat next to her, and said nothing.
"Natalia, there is a new boy here today. I wish for you to make friends."
"I have no friends Baba, they do not want me." She whispered.
"Nonsense, the woman smiled. You are a fine girl Natalia. One day, you shall have many friends. Good night Natalia."
"Good night Baba."
The door closed, and Natalia slept, she dreamt of a picnic, sitting in the winter snow with her family, enjoying the weak rays of sunlight that winter provided. Natalia knew that this would never happen. Her parents had no time for such things, after all, until she reached the age of marriage, she was of no use to her family. Natalia was smart, the brightest in her age-group and she realized that one day, her nightmares would become her reality.
She had known Alexi for years, and they were to be married, come the day Natalia turned 18. For a 9 year old, Natalia Romanova knew far too much.
She awoke in the arms of a strange man.
He told her that his name was Ivan, and that they would be spending a lot of time together.
Her parents had died, she knew that much.
Natalia had never truly been alone, but now. She was.
And she was scared.