Disclaimer in chapter 1
Thanks to carolzocas, JWolf28, Guest (both of you), and beverlie4055 for your reviews and a special thanks to JoMiSm for reviewing every single chapter! The support I'm receiving is incredible :)
This chapter begins with one of Natasha's dreams and as many of you know, they're not particularly pleasant. Just a light warning here but I don't think it's anything too graphic.
Enjoy!
Natasha felt water pour into her lungs and occupy every tiny empty crevice. A hand yanked her head back by the hair and threw her to the ground in a pitiful heap. Violent coughs rattled her chest. Looking around she could see nothing but endless darkness. No depth, no distance, no time existed here. The hand that pulled her out grabbed her by the collar and forced her to look at it. The figure had dry ashy skin and sunken red eyes. It's teeth were sharp and stained with blood. The figure was ominous and large, long thin and bony limbs added to the tallness of it. Shaking her, it opened its jaws with a growl, rotting breath filled her nostrils. It let out a guttural scream that deafened her before it plunged her into the dark and endless black floor.
She felt her eyes shut tight in fear before the faint smell of burning flesh and smoke filled her nostrils. Opening her eyes, Natasha saw the smoke filled sky above her and realized she was back in Monaco, paralyzed in fear under the rubble of what used to be a clinic. Her bones felt shattered and her muscles ached in agony. Arms outstretched, she looked to her left. Her eyes met the sight of the woman and child she'd been trying to save. The woman's face was burned pink by the flames of the explosion, lifeless arms still cradling her infant.
The child was what drove Natasha to the brink.
The infant voice screamed out in obvious pain. Its face was red with desperation.
Natasha could feel her heart clench as tears rolled down her face, "No, No!" Her chest was racked with sobs. She willed her body to get to the baby, to crawl her way to it if she had to, but her limbs wouldn't move. She could do nothing but watch the infant scream and scream and scream in agony at the pulsing pain of the burns. She wondered of the child knew its mother was dead. Natasha yelled in frustration at her inability to move, to help the child. She could do nothing but watch. It was like a horror movie she couldn't turn away from.
A figure suddenly hovered over her. She recognized his silhouette as that of her partner. He called out her name, desperately trying to get her attention, but his cries fell on deaf ears. He firmly held her jaw and turned her towards him as to tear her eyes away from the mother and child, but only her head moved, gaze glued to the horrific sight in front of her. She cried harder.
Clint suddenly bent forward and began placing wet kisses on her neck and face, effectively distracting her. Her brow furrowed in confusion and her hands moved to push him away.
Natasha gasped and jolted up on her bed, sweat collecting on her brow. She felt her eyes snap open but she couldn't see a thing. Panicking, she began to furiously rub her eyes but her vision wouldn't return. Then, she felt a the familiar wet kisses on her face. Feeling around, she discovered it was a large furry dog licking her sweaty features. Her breathing began to settle as her memories slowly came back to her. Gus rubbed his head against her chest before flopping onto his back over her legs, demanding a belly rub. Complying, Natasha absentmindedly began to scratch the canine's stomach. This wasn't the first time he'd woken her up from a fitful sleep. The people at the service dog training center also trained therapy dogs for PTSD; she snuck Gus into the classes from time to time when his regular training ended. For that, she was grateful.
Surprisingly, that was the first nightmare she'd had in a week coming close to, but not beating, her personal best of two weeks.
The nightmare was of a mission in Monaco she and Clint went on years ago. Except, in reality, Clint had arrived at the still burning wreckage just as she was inches from reaching the infant before he dragged her away, broken leg and all. She'd yelled and protested, but he had insisted that if they didn't leave in that moment, they were going to die from the secondary explosion. True to his word, the moment they limped past crumbled doorframe, another explosion thrust them forward. She blacked out and woke up three weeks later, hating the world even more than she did before.
If there was one thing that disturbed Natasha above everything else, it was crimes against children, crimes against the innocent who could do nothing but stand there as the men and women in control toyed with them as they pleased. Natasha knew first hand what such power could engender. She'd been a child soldier essentially, a spy, an agent beaten into submission, brainwashed and tortured. They taught her loyalty and consequences of failure. She'd been a child, ripped from the seams of her perfect world and molded into the emotionless killer she tried everyday to suppress. They'd made her into the Black Widow and purged Natasha Romanova into the deepest and most unreachable corner of her psyche.
She'd been lost until she was found, by none other than the lump of muffled snoring coming from the living room.
Feeling for her watch to gage the exact time, Natasha found that it was only 6:50 AM. Content that she managed to sleep in, and deciding she wasn't going to get anymore rest, she quietly got up to get dressed. She was about to leave to get some juice and eggs from the store when she realized she had to let Clint know she'd only stepped out, and not run away. She scribbled a note as neatly as she could before grabbing Gus, her glasses, and a warm coat, leaving the note on the coffee table for Clint to find if he woke up.
The cool December air immediately caused her nose to freeze over. It didn't matter if she spent half of her life in Russia or central Africa, she could never get over how much she hated the cold, or any weather that was on the extreme side of the spectrum. She recalled a mission where she and Clint were sent into the Sahara desert to track an illegal drug trade route during the peak of the summer. Never had she cursed her pale Russian skin more. Clint had teased her relentlessly while her mild sunburns healed.
Gus didn't seem to mind the weather. He didn't seem to mind anything, really. She'd decided that walking to places was better for the both of them. It saved her money on cranky cab drivers, Gus got exercise, and the more they traveled on familiar paths, the less she had to direct him on their destination.
Just as they rounded the corner before the small grocery store, a familiar sense of paranoia washed over Natasha. It was the familiar sense of being watched the made her stiffen. She felt eyes on her, from a distance and up close. Two tails, recon and surveillance. Her sense became more attentive as she tried to pick up on any strange sounds or unusual odors. She became more aware of the space around her, if people were to close or if she recognized a presence.
Then, just as suddenly as she picked up on them, they were gone. 'Maybe they found out I'd made them? No, I'm too careful, I didn't let it show. Orders? Someone gave them orders to fall back.' her mind reeled for an explanation, but came up short.
Gus's momentary pause let Natasha know they'd reached their destination. Walking into the grocery store, she quickly grabbed a carton of juice, eggs, and bacon before paying and heading home. She uttered a small apology to Gus as she proceeded to follow evasion tactics to throw off any tails she might've missed. He just trotted along and went with it.
The familiar aroma of salted eggs and succulent fried bacon made Clint's mouth water before he was fully conscious. He heard the gently scraping of a wooden spatula on a frying pan and the sizzling of the cooking oil. It had diabetes written all over it but damn was he starving. Cracking his eyes open, he was grateful for the lack of lighting in the apartment as a headache took over. Then the memories of last night came back to him. Mild hangover aside, he wrapped Natasha's blanket over his shoulders and shuffled into the kitchen.
"You made breakfast." He stated more than asked. He sat down and rubbed the sleep out of one of his eyes, looking intently at the plate of warm food before him.
"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not as helpless as I appear." She said, emptying her scrambled eggs onto a plate and setting it on the table. Tossing one piece of stray bacon to Gus, she shooed him away from the kitchen, "I can't see it, but he stares when I eat sometimes. He can fetch things for me and navigate through a city easily, but when I try to teach him manners he's suddenly stubborn."
He gave a light chuckle before he started digging into his food, "I can see that. God, this is so good."
"You act like you've never tasted my specialty bacon and eggs hangover cure." She remarked, taking a sip of her orange juice.
"I think they taste better after five years since I last had them." He said with a slightly full mouth.
She glared at him, "Manners, Barton. " she reminded. He gave an amused smirk before finishing his mouthful.
"So what's on the schedule today?" He asked.
"I've gotta take pulgas over there to the pet groomer. He's too rowdy for me to bathe on my own." His Spanish was a little rusty but he was almost sure she called Gus "fleas".
"I can help." He offered.
Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him, "You, help me bathe a dog? Clint, you hate large filthy animals." She remarried, reminding him of that bear they were caged next to when they'd been captured on a mission and thrown into a shipping container on a cargo ship. Definitely one of their weirdest stories ever.
"He's not as big as Smokey and besides, how rowdy could he be?" He asked innocently. Natasha held back a smirk and finished her breakfast.
Half an hour later, a wet and sudsy Gus jumped out of the bath tub for the second time and ran away from Clint. The dog proceeded to shake himself of the excess water right as Natasha had emerged from her bedroom to check on the pair.
Clint froze just as Natasha did before he burst out laughing. Her hair now had white clouds of bubbles in it and her face was speckled with dirty dog water. Gus simply looked up at her with his goofy dog face. Steeling her gaze, she quickly scooped the still growing wet German Shepherd into her arms and walked past Clint, who had large water stains on his shirt and pants.
Another twenty minutes later, Gus emerged seemingly dry and clean of any previous blemishes. He scurried off to his bed cushion to rub himself dry.
Meanwhile, his owner and her companion sat in the wet bathroom floor, backs against the outside of the tub, "Have you ever seen the movie Marley & me?" Asked Clint from beside her.
"If it came out after 2006, then no." She replied, running her fingers through her frizzing hair.
"Well then we need to watch it. Now that dog makes Gus look like a saint." He said.
"Gus is a saint, what are you talking about, Clinton? I mean have you seen him? 'Cuz I sure haven't." He smiled widely at her words. She truly was unstoppable. She'd crack jokes to him at the worst times, like when she'd been shot in Alaska and he stupidly asked her if she was okay:
"Are you kidding? I feel great. I'm ready for round two. Come one, Clint, shoot me some more."
To which he'd scowled in disapproval, letting her know her sarcasm was not appreciated. This moment, however, was one of the times she was appropriately funny. He took it as a privilege to see her relaxed enough to just say the first thing came to her mind. Not everyone at SHIELD knew this side of her, and it was something he wished was common knowledge. Yes, the infamous Black Widow, house Romanoff, killer of killers, can laugh. She'd told him on one occasion that if she was humorous around all of the other agents they'd be paralyzed in fear long before they'd figure out how to react. That, and it would take away from her street cred.
"How'd you manage to train that rascal like a guide dog? The idea follows that if they are that obedient, they're usually pretty calm, too." He asked.
She simply shrugged, "I stopped questioning his antics when he saved me from being flattened by some dumb driver. I guess he's focused when he needs to be and the rest of the time, he relaxes and lets out all the stupid."bad the words left her mouth, she couldn't help but think about how Clint was the same way. He was all business in missions but when he was off the clock, he was goofy and relaxed.
He paused, "You almost got run over? When?" He demanded lightly.
"Yesterday." She replied flatly, "I forgot that walking through DC during rush hour wasn't a good idea. After that, I decided to catch a cab back here."
He looked at her, slightly off put by the casual tone in which she recalled what could've been a fatal car accident. Clint then realized that Natasha had been on her own taking care of herself just fine for the past five years and long before she had ever met him. A faint wooden creak and metallic rattling drew Clint's eyes to Natasha's bedroom, visible from his spot by the bathtub. Gus was rolling around in her bed, completely careless, as he tried to dry his damp fur on her blue comforter. Smirking, he spoke, "I think it was more an act of self preservation above anything else. If you get flattened, who's gonna feed him? Whose bed is he gonna rub all over in an attempt to dry himself?"
Her eyes widened in realization before annoyance took over, "Gus!" She scolded firmly. The dog immediately froze and looked at her attentively, ears perked to listen, "Get down from there!" He lowered his ears and tucked his tail, bowing his head as he slowly jumped off her now messy queen sized bed and trotted over to his own dog mattress on the floor, "I don't know why he likes doing that. Now I'm have to clean his fur off my sheets." She said, but didn't make a move to get up.
"Hey, Nat?"
"Yeah?" She replied.
Clint tried the recall exactly what he wanted to say to her, "Thanks." He said, satisfied that it summed up his words.
She turned her head towards him, soft green eyes looking past him, "Anytime, Clint." He got to his feet and helped her up, "We smell like wet dog."
He sniffed his shirt collar and nodded, "Yeah."
"But you," she said, pointing her finger and poking his shoulder, "smell like wet dog and liquor. So, you shower first and I'll clean up my bed."
"Yes ma'am." He said with a grin. Natasha walked off and Clint turned around to figure out her shower.
Two male figures stood across a desk in a dark office room illuminated by a lone desk lamp with a green umber shade over it.
"No, Boss, she didn't see us tailing her." Answered a gruff man in a black beanie and jacket.
"Of course not, you fool, she's blind." Replied a more than irritated voice.
"What he means, Madame Hydra, is that we went by undetected. She was startled momentarily but after we pulled back, she relaxed." Clarified the second man.
Hydra leaned back on her black leather chair behind her dark cherrywood desk, squeezing a green stress ball, "Natasha Romanoff has become a thorn in my side." Her voice dark and menacing, "Drakov was foolish for thinking he could outsmart her. The Black Widow is a legend, and legends die hard." She unclenched her fist and revealed a pummeled stress ball before turning her hand and letting it fall to the floor, "Keep your eyes on her. When we make our move, I want to know exactly where she is."
"Yes, Madame Hydra." The two men replied. They both quickly exited the dark office, shutting the heavy oak doors behind them.
Hydra glared pensively at the doors before pressing a button on her speakerphone, "Aldus," she said as soon as the other line picked-up.
"Yes madame?" replied a clear voice in a South African accent.
"Tell your agent to plant the seed. And mobilize units to the facility in Sweden. We have work to do." She ordered and hung up.
OH SNAP! Madame Hydra is my all time favorite Marvel super villain. Look her up on Marvel Wiki if you've never heard of her. Honestly, I think she and the Joker would get along swimmingly.
Things are definitely gonna pick up soon but I assure you, this fic still has a lot to tell. As I said before, chapter 11 will up the rating so it might get darker in content later in (but nothing grizzly, I assure you).
As always, let me know what you think!
