Мынайдемспособ
She was running through a corridor, cold, polished wood under her bare feet. A long hall, with closed doors on each side and white walls. What is this? Why is it so familiar? But it wasn't real. Go through that door, there.
Мынайдемспособ
She couldn't open the door.
She could hear them close though, so she kept running. His voice was in her ear, a constant as she ran.
Мынайдемспособ
And she was running but she was talking back, somewhere, somewhen.
Не давайте обещаний, мы не можем держать
But he insisted.
Нет, я найду способ , я буду . Попробуйте отдохнуть
He held her tighter and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.
She was cold now, and she gritted her teeth and cried out when they shocked her again, kneeling on a cold, concrete floor that scrapped her knees raw, hands tied behind her back and she could see them, she could always see them, but they put a blindfold on her all of a sudden and then she was drowning, struggling against hands that held her down and she screamed into the water.
Нет!
It wasn't her screaming, because she was coughing and chocking and trying to breathe, eyes clenched shut as her lungs struggled and she coughed roughly, but he was screaming behind her, even though they both knew it was no use, even though they both knew, it would only make it worse.
остановись!
The blindfold was gone, and she screamed when she saw him. Two handlers held her back as she fought and kicked and punched, but she was too weak, her body spent from weeks of endless torture, and now she fought hard and they held her back and bruised her arms and wrists further with their brutal force. But she continued to kick and fight…
Стоп!
Madam slapped her so hard she spat out blood and stopped struggling immediately, and could do nothing but look up at her with wide, fearful eyes, as if she was four again and had stepped out of line. She had. The older woman grabbed her face roughly, squishing it with one hand and digging her nails in for good measure as she directed her to look at him, in the chair, and hold still as his screams reverberated through the room.
She woke up with a scream, shooting straight up in bed, shaking and shivering despite the warm temperature of the room. It took her all but five seconds to recognize her surroundings, and she could suddenly breathe, panting and trying to get air into her lungs, moaning when she felt that phantom pain in her chest from inhaling too much water. It wasn't real anymore, but it was still too fresh in her mind.
She was trembling so bad her breath was stuttering, and she slowly made her way out bed, hoping the solid ground under her feet would help. It did. She wiggled her toes in the soft carpet and felt her body slowly coming back to her, her muscles relax one by one. Мынайдемспособ
Tears sprang to her eyes as his voice echoed in her head. We will find a way.
She now knew without a doubt that they'd escaped, or at least tried to. He was so warm and comforting, his voice so soothing she could sleep again just remembering it, but her eyes snapped back open and her back went rigid at the mare thought of going back to sleep, going back to that.
She was breathing normally now, her heart just a bit faster than normal, still settling, and she let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders back, pushing away the memories of the pain in her arms from having her hands tied behind her for so long.
Memories, they were definitely that. No nightmare could feel so real, shake her so deep, and explain everything at the same time. It had been the longest one so far, that she had woken up and recalled every detail, and not forgotten again. It was slowly coming back to her, and slowly starting to make sense. Well more or less. So far she knew she'd loved this man, and he'd loved her back, dearly, and they'd tried to run, but probably didn't make it far, and had been tortured for their insolence, then wiped clean of each other.
It was perfectly calculable, really, except she could not for the life of her understand why they would do something so stupid! Did we really think, for one second, that we would make it?
It didn't dawn on her that she'd stopped thinking I in favor of we.
Мынайдемспособ
Why? Why had they done that?
She sighed and rubbed her face clean of cold sweat, brushing her hair back with her fingers. She couldn't recall yet, why they'd made that stupid decision, and knew that since her memories seemed to come back clearer in her deep sleep, her best bet was to lay back down and relax. But oh, it was too much. A shiver wrecked her body at the thought of remembering more of the torture, even if it brought some answers. She looked to her nightstand and saw the digital clock blinking 5:10 am. A perfect excuse to not try again, for tonight.
It was so strange though, that she was remembering anything at all. For all the times that they'd sent her into missions with altered memories or very sensitive mission objectives, every time she'd woken up in the med-area, feeling as if she'd had a restless sleep, she'd walked out completely normally. And she'd been 14 the first time, hadn't started her system of figuring out how much time she was missing until 15, and her longest mission when she was 17. Not once, not once had she remembered anything, not a drop of recognition, not a dream or a nightmare or anything at all. She didn't understand why this time, things were slipping through the cracks, Cracks that were there from the moment she woke up, and had only widened and widened until just now, she'd remembered a whole moment, without interruption.
It was unsettling to say the least. She wondered if she'd just loved him that much. But again, there was that something else, tugging at her heart.
She shook herself of those thoughts, feeling her mind overcrowd with images and wanting just a moment of peace. She pressed a button by the bed and the curtains slid open.
She stood up and moved until she was by the window and looked out at the city, at the waters of the Potomac, at the multicolored sky and rising sun. Three months and eleven days since she was brought into SHIELD. It felt as if there was a clock ticking in her chest, counting down. With every moment that she spent here comfortable and - for all intents and purposes- safe, she felt the weight that had taken place in her heart months ago grow heavier and heavier. She wished she could remember why.
Yesterday one of the STRIKE teams had left on the third mission to bring down the threat of the Red Room. Fury hadn't let her go with the team, and it angered her, but not at him, at them. She understood. It was the same reason she was still confined to the premises, and wasn't allowed to answer any phones or read any files or listen to any recordings of any kind. Her brain was filled with triggers. Triggers were specific and never accidental. Triggers that ranged from shutting her down to making her follow an order mindlessly to unhinging her mind so completely she could go into a killing frenzy to wiping her of the last 24 hours… too many to count.
It's not only for the safety of my men and women, but for your own. Fury had made it a point to show that he was starting to consider her too. She was sure he didn't express himself to his own agents much.
Unfortunately, the problem didn't end there. The girls had been lent to other organizations regularly, not to mention the scientists (butchers, Barton had mumbled under his breath) who had engineered the triggers in the first place where from all around, had been Hydra in the old days, then maybe KGB, and a few were of the Red Room exclusively. Consequently, it was unknown exactly who else had her triggers.
So she couldn't go anywhere, help in any other way than lend some information on a case, and continue to brief them on everything she knew or could remember from her time with them, including other organizations they worked with, or were enemies with. Day in and day out, in a small space with a bed and a small desk and chair against a wall, but with a huge window with a beautiful view -Fury had assured her, she wasn't a prisoner anymore, though she was still under surveillance- and thankfully, a private bathroom, something she couldn't remember ever having. It was just a toilet and a sink pushed together, with barely enough space for a square shower stall, but only she used it, without needing permission or a schedule, and she loved it.
Barton tried to be around a lot, visiting her quarters and sparing with her at the gym and taking her around the cafeteria and gardens of the Triskelion – only places that didn't need any clearance. Still, it was better than being in her quarters all day. But lately it hadn't been just to keep an eye on her, she'd realized. He wanted to keep her company. She hadn't known what to do with the revelation the first time. She'd stared at him for a few seconds more than considered normal as she tried to figure out her next course of action. She knew what it meant, she'd read about it and had been taught and had even acted it on missions, but this time it was happening to her in real life. And she hadn't known how to answer to that basic human sentiment without putting on a mask. She'd shut off and told him to leave.
He'd nodded, following her request and heading towards the door, but not before saying "You came here for a fresh start. You don't need to be anyone but yourself."
She'd laughed hysterically and then sobbed into the darkness that night because she was in a place where she could rebuild herself, be someone new, someone worthy, and she didn't know how she could do that, how she could shed the masks and skins and be herself. Specially with so much crap in her head, with so many 'modifications' and 'programs', she sometimes wondered if she was where she was by her own will. That thought scared her more than anything else in the world.
She had been here for three months and almost all of her energy had gone towards helping them bring down the Red Room and their associates, but she'd been away from them and their rigid rules and codes for so long she'd also had time and space to 'find herself', but the problem was that she had found nothing. Just... nothing.
She was nothing. Just a weapon. Hadn't been allowed to have her own thoughts ever in her life. Her first memory was of refusing, and being beaten down for it. And many of her earliest memories consisted of that, of her pushing back, and them crushing her in return, of them ripping out any of her personality that had developed at such a young age, and them starting to mold their own thing in the empty shell they left of her.
And then there were the dreams, the memories that were coming back to her slowly of a time not too long ago, a time where she unheeded her superiors and actually ran away. She'd been captured, but she'd continued to fight back, she'd seen herself do it in her dream and couldn't believe it was her kicking her handlers. She'd planned an escape and she'd gotten herself captured by the organization her handlers hated the most. She couldn't fathom the idea but there is was, and here she was, in the protection of what was supposed to be her enemy. Therefore, she knew there was more to herself than all they'd trained her to be. Something amazing and vibrant in her subconscious -or forgotten past- had brought her here and she would see it through.
So maybe she didn't know or just couldn't remember who she was, the kind of person she was supposed to grow up to be. She was strong-willed, that's all she could tell, from how she tried to resist at first and that she, one way or another, had finally survived.
She decided to start with that, and stick to that. Keep surviving, somehow. In the real world, one needed allies to do that.
She started that next day, when Barton came back, she gave him a small smile, one that might have looked more like a smirk than she intended, but he understood how hard she was trying, and smiled brightly in return.
"Wanna see something funny?" His eyes were mischievous as she followed him.
He showed her an empty hallway and she watched as he jumped into a vent in the ceiling without so much as a push, then pulled her up with him. It scared her how much he trusted her, showing her this path to probably the whole building.
They crawled quietly and came upon the gym, where Rumlow - a guy Clint had shown his extreme dislike of and warned her never to turn her back on- was working out, and found herself stifling real laughter when he started lifting weights and making the most ridiculous noises, grunts and moans and Clint was biting his own knuckles to not make any sound while watching her, and she could tell he was pleased with himself that he'd made her laugh. After all, he'd been watching her sulk for three months. He was showing her now that she could be someone different.
She suddenly realized he wasn't going to be her ally, he was going to be her friend. She vowed then and there to never let him down. He'd saved her life in more ways than she could count.
The STRIKE team returned that night, and Fury barged into her quarters, a tablet in his hand, a sense of urgency in his step.
"The mission was a success, they brought back more files for you to look through with Agent Barton, but I need your help with something else right now." He spoke with such authority and calmness, his mere presence in the room garnered respect from anyone, and she was on her feet the next second, looking at the info he had brought her on the tablet. He put it down on the small desk so he could see what she saw and watch her, study her for any reactions. She'd told him that triggers were rarely accidental, but he always said better safe than sorry.
There was a picture of a man on the tablet, name, birthplace and birthdate, known organizations he linked to and associates. Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov. Her blood boiled. She crossed her arms despite herself in a defensive posture.
"What about him?" Her tone was harsh and she didn't bother to hide it.
Fury tapped on the screen and showed her the diagram she had drawn them her first few days in her cell of the people at the Red Room, and Ivan was directly under Pchelintsov, the man that had evaded them since the first raid of the Red Room and Department X facilities. Many of the founders were long dead, and Madam had shot herself in the first raid a week ago, rather than be captured and interrogated. How original. The main scientist, Pchelintsov, was still in the wind, while most of the handlers had been captured, but not before they killed the girls. There'd been only four left, counting Natasha, and they killed them on the second raid just before they were arrested. They were now getting closer to Department X and hopefully getting rid of the whole program.
"We caught him." She looked up at Fury when he spoke, pleased and surprised at the same time, and she had a feeling where this was going. "And I'm guessing he knows where our evil scientist is."
She arched an eyebrow at him. She knew what he was going to ask, but it was too dangerous. "He knows most of the triggers."
Fury nodded. "We'll have people right outside ready to sedate you both if anything looks remotely out of place."
She still looked uncertain. She would like nothing more than a chance to get back at Ivan, even if just a little bit, but he knew her too well, knew her inside and out, he didn't need a trigger to bring her to her knees. He scared her, even now, and she hated that feeling. She wasn't in their clutches anymore!
Fury sensed her hesitation and turned to her, facing her completely. "This can't be easy on you, but if there's one thing I've learned is that when something has the potential to compromise you," He paused for effect, looking her straight in the eye. "You kick it in the teeth."
She couldn't help the smirk that pulled at her lips, uncrossing her arms and picking up the tablet. She felt sure of herself and her strength, she knew where her skills were. She was someone new, but her training was carved into her bones now, and it was something she knew would always be of good use to her.
"When?"
They were down in the cells in the next 15 minutes, and Clint had joined them, a protest on the tip of his tongue. But he kept silent and only watched her. He trusted her to make her own decisions, but promised her he'd be watching the monitors and wouldn't let the bastard get away with anything. She gave him a rare, genuine smile.
She was at the door, ready to go in, but stopped. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was not under his control any longer, she was her own person now, and he couldn't punish her. She'd done nothing wrong. It was her turn.
She went in.
This cell was different, it was a concrete square with a steal door and cameras all around. He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room and he looked up when he heard someone enter, a shocked look on his face before he laughed.
She closed the door and moved closer to him, slowly but surely, letting him laugh it out.
"They told me you had escaped again, but I didn't believe them! I swore you'd been captured!" His accent was heavy, dripping with their mother tongue. "You were always so obedient; I couldn't believe you'd tried in the first place. But I guess, third time's a charm."
Third time? She controlled her reaction expertly. He didn't need to know how much that revelation twisted her gut. Third time. He rambled on. Ivan did like to talk.
"What are you doing here, playing hero? Чёрная Вдова, you do not belong here."
"No, not yet."
He laughed even harder at her response. At least he wouldn't take her for a fool, and keep pretending they'd been the good guys. This should be easier to work with.
"Ooooh, Tashia, you never seize to amuse me." She still stood calmly before him, hands at her sides, dressed in plain SHIELD garb, black tactical pants and boots, a white T-Shirt with the Shield eagle on the shoulder, and a holster they'd just given her with a knife and a gun, all she'd asked for before coming in here. All she'll need, if she played her cards right. "And will you torture me then? Slice and dice like we taught you? Do you really think my own tricks will work?" His eyes were condescending now, a sneer on his lips.
"Yes." Not really no, but he didn't need to know what she was planning.
His gaze turned malicious, his sinister smile now baring his lips. "Oh Tashia, I'd rather you didn't. We both know how this will end." No, she was strong, and wouldn't let him pull her under. "Be good."
"No."
His right eye twitched ever so slightly.
"Tashia,"
"No."
He was getting angry, as she knew he would. He absolutely hated it when she denied him.
She remembered her earliest memory clearly, so clear she could almost smell and feel the stink of urine and blood. A dark room, gloomy with soft lightning and a red hue. Ivan crouched low to be the same height as her, but she still had to look up, she was still barely a toddler. His big hand was grabbing onto her tiny forearm tightly, keeping her from retreating any further into her favorite corner, but she kept trying to pull away, sobbing and crying out and trying to step back to her corner, away from him, from all of them. He promised her a treat if she cooperated, if she followed the older girls into the other dark room. She hid her face behind her red curls and the white of her oversized shirt and he gripped her harder, shook her roughly and she cried louder. He told her to shut up or he would hurt her for real. She peed herself, he shoved her hard against her favorite corner. Blood flooded her mouth, she lost her first baby tooth with the impact against the wall.
And any other time after that, if she so much as gave him a defiant look, he would rain his rage down on her. It'd started with a slap, a shove, a fist, a whipping, a night in the freezing concrete cells, an extra hour of resistance training. But she was a fast learner and very smart, and very resilient, and pretty, and he'd found other ways to put her in her place. Those worked so well, he'd subjected her to a routine of them until she'd been 15 and Madam had put a stop to it, something about damaged goods if he kept going at the rate he was. He'd seethed, arguing that she needed discipline. Madam said that she was already scared enough of him, and that would do to keep her in place. He'd just been angry she'd taken his favorite toy. It was probably the only thing she'd ever be thankful to Madam for.
Right now was no different, she could see the boiling rage in his eyes. She hadn't denied him since she was nine and he'd made her take him in her tiny mouth the first time. He was restrained and couldn't lash out at her, so he used that sickly sweet voice he reserved for the times he made her bleed and crawl back to her room.
"Tashia, be good to daddy, and daddy would be good to you." His eyes reflected the consequences there would be otherwise. She repressed the urge to crumble and kneel and heed. She drew strength from the place around her. She wasn't the prisoner anymore, he was. She was in control now.
You're so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. Yasha had told her once, in English.
Yasha, she realized with a start, her eyes widening. His name is Yasha.
Ivan took her shudder for fear of him and his disgusting smirk was back. "I am sure we can work something out, sweet one." She made a face, as if he was winning and she was crumbling, and could hear commotion outside. She needed to move quick unless they came in and got her, thinking he'd compromised her.
She took a cautious step towards him, swallowing hard, and looking down a little, acting uncertain and he fell for it. "That's a good girl, come Tashia." She got another step in and her legs brushed his knees and she shuddered for real this time. He chuckled lowly and throaty. She lashed out before she lost her nerve.
The knife that had been at her hip was embedded in his eye the next second and his scream tore through the calm cell. The commotion outside stopped immediately. Ivan kept screaming. "Oh, I'm sorry daddy." She faked her voice into a scared little girl, the voice she knew he loved to hear from her. He screamed louder, enraged and in excruciating pain. She waited for a few more seconds before leaning over him and pulling out the knife and covering the wound with one hand to somewhat stop the bleeding. "I'm sorry." She even let out a sob and he opened his good eye with great effort and snarled at her.
"You bitch! You will pay for this! I'll make sure of it!"
She cried, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she pleaded. "No! I'm sorry, I'll be good!"
He looked dumfounded for a moment, watching her cry as she did when she begged him to not punish her. "I'm sorry! I'll let you look!" She used to do that, strip and make a show of it and anything so that he wouldn't take her again. "Please!"
She looked into his good eye and made sure he followed her hand not occupied with covering his gouged out eye as she reached for the hem of her shirt and lifted it slightly, just enough so he could see her flat belly, creamy skin and belly button before she let go and reached for the knife again, and held the tip right at his good eye.
"I promise, I'll let you look." He held his breath as the tip of the knife hovered at his eyeball. "If you tell me where Pchelintsov is, I promise I'll let you look."
He got some of his bearings back, breathing in again and panting. "I am your handler, stupid girl! I will not fall for you tricks!" He screamed in her face and struggled a little under her, but her hold on his bad eye now served to make him cry out in renewed pain.
She cried inconsolably, her shoulders shaking and breath hitching. The confusion on his face was almost comical, if not for the blood gushing down his face. "But daddy, please!" She let go of the knife and the gun was in her hand next holding it up to his face and he gave her a hard look.
"I will not fear you, stupid girl!"
More tears gathered in her eyes and just when he was starting to pull himself together and out of her spell, she softly pressed the gun to his lips, and his eyes went as big as saucers. He clamped his lips shut but it was too late, the barrel of the gun was already in, and he made an undignified sound, trying to back away from it. She stepped closer to him, drawing strength from within herself now. You're so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. He was almost sobbing as she straddled him, legs on either side of him but holding herself up so they weren't actually touching, but he could feel her closeness and see her above him and he squirmed and yelped when she thrust the gun in until it touched the back of his throat. He was panting and terrified now, frantic eye darting from her eyes to her hand and what he could see of the gun and he squirmed trying to get away. She gently pulled it out to the tip and thrust it back in and he screamed, muffled by the gun and jerking so hard underneath her he would have thrown her off if he wasn't restrained, scared shitless and she felt satisfaction bloom in her chest.
"How about it daddy." He was sweating and trembling like a leaf, looking back at her with one terrified eye. He screamed louder and almost fainted when she pulled the gun back again and thrust it back in. "Where's Pchelintsov?"
He found some semblance of control in himself and jerked his head no. She'd stopped the tears, looking at him with a satisfied smile on her face as she pulled the gun out of his mouth and he groaned and panted, sweat dripping from his chin as his chest rose and fell harshly. "Ok, daddy, but if you make me do this, it won't be much fun for us, ever again." Her sweet voice was lulling and he watched her closely, trying to predict her next move.
She slowly pressed the gun to his neck, then pulled herself back a little, taking her hand off of his bleeding eye and switching hands on the gun. Bloody hand holding the gun now, she reached down with her other hand and once again made sure he was following her every move as she teasingly lifted her shirt, all the way up to her ribs, and left it there, giving him a good view of her entire mid-section, lean and creamy hips and tummy, and she slowly slid the gun down his chest and stomach with her other hand. He followed her hand on her body as if in a trance, the only relieve to the pain and anxiety, and she pushed all thoughts away and reminded herself, she was in control. "Not much fun at all, daddy." She said as she caressed her tummy and the gun reached his genitals.
His eye shut up to hers in shock and she cocked the gun, ready to fire and he screamed Pchelintsov location.
Clint came to her quarters with dinner in a tray from the cafeteria, and she let him in and he set down the food on the desk. She was quiet, looking out the window again. It had felt so natural, to slip back into that person, to be dark and manipulative, even if he'd deserved every second of it, and more. She'd felt as if she'd lost herself, for a second. Herself. Who she was trying to be. Maybe she could be both, separate them, the job from her real life. Her real life? Her real self.
"You told me I didn't need to be anyone but myself." She didn't turn away from the window, but Clint payed attention anyway, sitting on the chair by her desk behind her, a soothing presence, if she ever needed one.
"Yeah." He answered softly.
She turned to him slowly, an almost vulnerable look in her eyes. She trusted him so much, him more than Fury. He'd saved her. "But that woman down there, she's me, too." It was such a disturbing thought.
Clint nodded slowly, giving her a sympathetic look. "Yeah." She looked down, disconcerted. "But that's not a bad thing." She wasn't so sure.
He stood up, reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "We can never be all clean. Not after everything we've been through, everything we've done." She grimaced, because she knew he was right. "But those parts of us are what help us do good. We take terrible things we were taught and twist it to mean the opposite. The dark part of us is what reminds us to do good." She looked up at him and at his earnest expression, trying to teach her what he'd worked hard to learn himself. "We know what's out there because we've been part of it, but it also means we know how to defeat it."
It made her feel better, it really did. She had so much darkness, but she wasn't in it anymore, and she would use her knowledge to defeat it.
"You're not what they made you to be. You weren't supposed to use your skills to do what you just did. You're already showing them they can't control you. And as soon as we get Pchelintsov we'll get those triggers out and you'll be kicking ass." She chuckled lightly, a small smile on her lips. "Well, more ass, 'cause you sure did today." Her smile grew, and he smiled back at her, meeting her eyes and the mirth and kindness in his helped her relax. He slowly pulled her into a hug and she let him, even as she kept her hands at her sides.
But it was much more complicated than that. She frowned even as he held her and felt a headache coming on. "You told me I didn't need to be anyone but myself, but sometime I'm not sure who that is." She confessed softly, in his arms with her forehead against his shoulder and his hands rubbing soothingly at her back. She was a little afraid of what his response might be, but quickly found she needn't have been.
"Would you let me help you find out?"
She nodded eagerly and hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly.
Больше!
He was pushing her, pushing her, and she was tired, panting and covered in sweat, but he wouldn't let up. He worked her harder than all the other ones.
Больше!
She groaned and kicked higher and harder, but he still caught her and shoved her back, so hard this time that she landed on her back with a hard thud.
Встаньте!
She didn't understand what she was doing wrong, but she got up and tried again anyway. This time she got it right, and she tried to hide her smile, they could be watching. He was smirking as well.
Yasha, he was on his stomach besides her on the roof of the building, guiding her movements as she held the sniper rifle steady. Only one man was the target but Ivan had gone along on the mission and was in her line of sight. He knew that if she took that shot they would kill her on the spot. You're so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. English rolled off his tongue as if he was made for it, unlike Russian.
He'd taken her to bed for the first time that night and showed her a tenderness and gentle touch she never knew could be. He'd held her and touched her and she'd moaned and writhed and then he'd moved deep inside of her and she'd been with her back pressed tightly to his chest and their sweaty bodies sliding against each other, and she whimpered into her hand, his arms wrapped tight around her, one caressing her breast and the cold one between her legs made her cry out. He'd stopped, deep inside of her and she'd moaned in protest. He gently moved her hand away and shushed her with his own mouth, holding her face to him with his right hand. Her neck was twisted almost uncomfortably to meet his kiss but she didn't care as he started to move again, his long, deep thrusts pushing the breath out of her in soft little cries into his mouth and she reached behind her with one hand to his neck to keep him pressed against her, the other gripping the cold hand between her legs and she was bending forward with the force of the pleasure and her whimpers, but he kept them upright on their knees, thrusting a little harder and she gripped his hair at the back of his neck and he buried his hand in her red curls and pulled her mouth harder to his and his hot breath panted against her lips when they couldn't keep up the kiss anymore.
Не давайте обещаний, мы не можем держать
They were on a road, in a car, she was holding a gun and looking behind her at the black van following them. He screamed at her to wait, driving like a mad man and veering them away from the gunfire. She ignored him and rolled down the window, before twisting half of her body out the car. It was more difficult than usual, her midsection feeling heavy and round, but she managed and shoot out the pursuing vehicle's tires.
He was sleeping, and she was sitting on the bed, looking at the duffle bag on the floor, thinking about leaving and protecting him, but her things were in their bag, and there was only one bag, and that was her excuse tonight to climb back under the covers and ignore her logical mind. She cuddled up to his side and he pulled her in tight, his warm embrace lulling her back to sleep.
Natasha opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, consciousness slowly coming back to her. It was still early, and she was breathing peacefully. She couldn't move. She felt so… serene. It was the first time in months she'd woken up without feeling like she'd rather never go back to sleep. She could still feel the peace and warmth she had in his arms, the soft sheets around her bare skin, his strong arms helping her believe, for that one moment, that they were safe. If just for a moment.
It was beautiful, and she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes again and soaking in the memory that was him. She missed him, she knew she did, even if for a time she didn't know what it was that she was feeling, she knew now it was this man. And there was fear and despair and pain, they were weighed down by it, as she still was now with that heavy weigh in her chest that she knew she was coming close to figuring out. But in that moment, everything was calm, even the night felt peaceful. Now she stayed in bed until the sun rose, keeping the memory alive for as long as she could.
