Echoes


Eastern European S.H.I.E.L.D. Base, 2003.

Budapest was officially the worst city on the face of the planet. Natasha wished her orders had allowed her to burn it to the ground. As if her first stint there hadn't been bad enough, she'd been sent again for a different cause, with a different partner, the memories taking as high a toll on her as the situation stirring them up.

As she woke, alone, she congratulated herself on feeling nothing more than a surge of irritation – no crippling panic, any instinctive fear she felt was inconsequential enough for her to deny its existence – to find herself surrounded by white walls and hospital beds. The S.H.I.E.L.D. medics had insisted she stay in the medical ward for observation, even though she'd mostly healed from injuries that were more annoying than hazardous – by her standards, anyway.

She wasn't alone for long before the definition of "nondescript" walked through the door and approached her.

"How are you feeling?" the handler asked mildly.

"I'm fine, sir," she said, calmly, mask firmly in place. She'd been tried and tested in far worse circumstances; this was nothing. "I don't understand what all the fuss is about," she continued, "I'm mission-ready." And she was. It wouldn't be pleasant, working in her condition, but it wouldn't be out of the ordinary, either. This was the first time she'd landed herself in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical, and she needed to send a clear message to the handlers; first impressions were important, after all.

"Really? That's not what your doctors tell me."

"It's what I'm telling you," she answered steadily.

Coulson indulged himself in allowing a small sigh to escape before taking his leave of his agent - and she was his agent; she just didn't know what that meant yet. As the handler made his way down the busy corridors, he sent a text message.

Clint, it read, get to medical and check on Romanoff. She still won't open up to me.

He didn't have long to stew before his phone alerted him to an incoming message.

Already on it, Phil. And cheer up - try thinking about all the ways you could kill her old KGB handlers if she hadn't gotten to them first.

Coulson's response was succinct as ever.

:)

When Clint strolled into the medical ward, he had a spring in his step, a jaunty smile on his face, and something hidden behind his back. Natasha had known him long enough to realize it spelled trouble.

"Come to gloat, Barton? I can't believe I'm stuck in here and you're not."

"Yeah, well, unlike crazy Russian assassins, I actually have a sense of self-preservation. You should look into getting one of those."

"Oh, here stands the guy who regularly jumps off of buildings, and suddenly I'm the reckless one?"

"Which one of us is stuck in medical?"

"For once."

"Whatever, Romanoff," the archer replied flashing her his signature far-too-cheerful grin before sobering and asking, "Seriously, though, how are you doing?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that," she grumbled, but he thought she allowed a hint of confusion to color her tone as she continued, "I honestly don't know what the big deal is. I'm functional. There's no point in being stuck in medical, it's not like it'll make me finish healing any faster."

No, but it will let us take care of you, her partner thought. Functional isn't good enough here. I know you're disillusioned about intelligence organizations, he wanted to say, but S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't the Red Room.

He knew, however, that no matter how many times anyone said it, she wouldn't be convinced. She needed to see it for herself. So he only shrugged and said, "Well, I can tell you from personal experience that S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors are just a bunch of mother hens with PhD's in stubbornness. So, since you'll have nothing else to do over the next couple of days, you'll probably be doing a lot of reading, and I figured it was high time I helped you assimilate."

Ignoring her raised eyebrow, he swept his arm out from behind his back with a flourish, brandishing a book at her with a grin that said he was far too proud of himself.

She took it hesitantly because, if Barton thought something was a good idea, chances were it wouldn't end well. Case-in-point: He'd thought bargaining with the Black Widow a better idea than eliminating her, and never hesitated to tease her, even when she was in a bad mood from being stuck in medical.

Glancing down at the cover of the book in her hands and back up at her partner's face, she asked, "You got me a book about Captain America?"

"Hey, you want to talk about reckless, that guy pulled some crazy stunts during the war!"

"I'll be sure not to give you any ideas," she said drily.

"Oh, don't worry; I've already read that one."

"Oh joy."

Her curiosity got the better of her the next day, and she flipped through the book, not really reading, just sort of...browsing. About halfway through, a picture caught her eye - and stole her breath. It was captioned with a name: James Buchanan Barnes.

James.

As the Black Widow returned to the beginning of the book and actually read, struggling desperately to control her ragged breathing, all she could think was that this was a bad joke - it had to be.

As time passed, Barton would tease her about her frankly impressive "Captain America Library," as he called it, but he never understood why it was so extensive. After all, how could he ever have guessed that a Russian woman born in 1984 was researching an American soldier who had died in WWII for personal reasons?