A/N: In an effort to update more often, I'm cutting my chapters in half rather than writing these mega-monster long chapters that take forever to write and forever to edit. So here goes! Hope you enjoy! If you're still reading after all this time...have some super duper chocolate brownies :)
NATASHA
Natasha watched as Barton was knocked clear off his feet by the blast, landed flat on his back, and didn't move.
"Now we're even," she muttered. She hoisted Vanko's limp body into the back of the Hummer and climbed into the passenger's seat.
Nemirovsky raised her eyebrows. "Friend of yours?" she asked.
"Not anymore," Natasha replied. "And it's none of your damn business anyway. Drive."
The ride to the HYDRA bunker was silent. Nemirovsky showed no interest in attempting conversation and Natasha didn't try anything either. Now that the KGB had fallen and HYDRA was on the rise, Strucker made himself far too busy for Natasha and it irritated the hell out of her. He finally got that positon of power he'd been craving ever since she'd known him. And now, he insisted on exercising his power by pairing Natasha off with Nemirovsky for field work, despite Natasha's protests that she'd rather work alone.
She knew exactly why he wouldn't listen to her. Part of it could be attributed to being head of HYDRA, yes. He didn't have to take orders from anyone anymore. But it was more than that. He didn't trust her. And Natasha didn't trust him, that much was obvious, it always had been. After Strucker had revealed his status as double agent for god only knew how many years, he sure as hell was never going to earn an ounce of her trust ever again.
No, the balance was perfect now. Under normal circumstances, she had to work with a certain level of trust between other agents, but that wasn't going to get in her way anymore. Just the job. And that's exactly how she liked it.
Moscow had long since fallen behind them and the road stretched out in a long, black ribbon cutting through the golden stubble of barren fields. At exactly thirty miles outside of the city, when the neon green lights on the dashboard clock read 9:00am, Nemirovsky pulled off the road and into the field before she came to a stop. She pressed a small blue button on the dashboard and the earth shifted in front of them. A large black panel slid away revealing a gaping tunnel lined with steel burrowing deep into the earth.
Nemirovsky turned to face Natasha. "Run along now. I can take it from here."
Natasha gritted her teeth. "Strucker's orders were to bring Vanko."
"And you have," she said in a deceptively calm, sweet voice that only aggravated Natasha even further.
"I'd rather see him delivered for myself, thanks," Natasha replied.
A faint smirk curled Nemirovsky's deep red lips. "It must irritate you so much, not being number one agent anymore."
Natasha looked away, staring straight ahead. "We're wasting time."
"You're back to being a rookie," Nemirovsky plowed on, relentless. "Starting at the bottom rung all over again. Given no more information than a need to know basis."
Natasha clenched her jaw, forcing herself to swallow the burning words that singed her tongue, aching to be free. She refused to react to Nemirovsky's childish taunts, refused to give her the satisfaction she so openly hungered for. But Nemirovsky was eating it up, knowing full well Natasha couldn't defend herself.
Nemirovsky continued, dragging each word out. "And. It's. Killing. You."
Before Natasha could respond, Strucker and half a dozen armed guards exited the tunnel and came towards them.
"Ladies," he said. "I trust our guest arrived safely and in good health."
Nemirovsky shot a triumphant look at Natasha before she climbed out of the car. Two guards in black hauled Vanko none-too-gently from the car and into the bunker. Natasha made to follow but Strucker put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
"I want you to handle Vanko's interrogation," he said. "You've always been an efficient agent, knowing exactly what buttons to push at exactly the right time. I trust you'll get the location of the twins for me as fast as possible."
She frowned. "Why the rush?"
He spread his hands. "The twins are still not in my possession. And there are others who won't stop looking for Vanko. We're ahead in this race for the moment. I want to keep that lead and drive it home. Find me those twins, Natasha."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "It's Agent Romanoff to you. And I can only carry out the interrogation properly if I'm granted the freedom to do whatever it takes. I don't want anyone holding me back."
Strucker nodded. "That's exactly what I was hoping for. Have at him, Agent Romanoff."
Vanko was strapped into a steel chair in the middle of a small steel cell with one bare, lonely bulb hanging from the ceiling. Natasha studied him, silent, arms crossed, for an hour. Unlike others she had interrogated, Vanko never pleaded, begged, or bargained. He knew what was coming. And he didn't say a word. He'd be tough to crack. Tough, but not impossible. Everyone had their breaking point.
Natasha ambled towards him and stopped a foot away. "The twins you've been experimenting on. Where are they?"
Vanko's gaze remained resolutely straightforward. Solid, unwavering, and much too strong for her liking. Oh, this would be fun.
Natasha leaned down and placed her hands on either side of the chair, bending close enough that her lips brushed against his ear.
"Tell me now," she whispered, "and there won't be quite as much pain. You have my word."
Vanko pulled away just enough for his gaze to meet hers. "You don't have to do this. I can see you're not as cold as them…"
Natasha's fist cracked across his face, sending his words scattering across the cell accompanied by a spray of blood. And it felt good. It felt so. Damn. Good.
She hadn't been this physically forceful in an interrogation since…
Never.
Her training relied on mind games, on the suggestion of pain at the right pressure point to make it explode and feel a thousand times worse. She played off the individual fears and neuroses of each subject, making the entire experience as horrifying as possible. Violence was hardly necessary when her victims were a sobbing, trembling mess.
But this go around, she couldn't afford to take her time. There were others after Vanko, hunting him down, eager to get to those twins. And part of her didn't want to take the slow route. She was enjoying this too much.
Vanko turned his head away and spat a glob of blood onto the floor with a wet smack. Natasha paced in front of him and still he refused to follow her, to track her movements in fear like all her other subjects did. Why wasn't he afraid of her? Everyone was afraid of her. He should be terrified, especially after the hell Natasha had gone through to find him in the first place.
"Tell me," she sighed, "where the twins are. Don't make this any harder, or more painful, than it has to be."
Vanko's jaw clenched tight. And a surge of icy fury rose up in Natasha's chest. How dare he hold back? It had taken months of her life, and the cost of Ivan's life, to track this bastard down, and after all that…he still refused to talk.
Another sickening crack of her fist connected with that stubborn set of his jaw. Power coursed through her at the feeling of revenge wrapped around her knuckles, leaving bloodied trails and massive bruises blossoming across Vanko's face.
And she saw red.
Another blow.
Another.
Another.
Natasha caught Vanko's hair and yanked his head back. His eyes were swollen shut and blood dribbled from his mouth, staining his teeth, pouring down the front of his button-up shirt. Still, he made no sound. He had an impressive iron will. And she would relish every moment of breaking him.
"Tell me where the twins are," she said in a low warning tone. "And I'll stop."
Vanko coughed and managed to ease one eye partly open. "You can get away from them, it's not too late, if you just…"
This time, Natasha didn't aim for his battered face. Instead, she sent her fist straight into his solar plexus like a hammer. He choked and gurgled as he struggled to pull in another breath. She caught his chin and jerked his head up, forcing him to look her in the eye.
"I like it here," she hissed. "Trust me, I've got nothing to lose thanks to you. This is what you get for trying to keep your precious experiments hidden instead of giving them up like you should have right from the start. Now tell me where the goddamn twins are, or you will die, gasping in a pool of your own blood, in this cell, alone."
Vanko raised his gaze to her face and for a split second, a jolt of horror writhed in Natasha's stomach. In that moment, she saw a tired old man, trapped by his own creation, by his own genius, hunted down for years, with no peace of mind to help him sleep at night. And here she was beating him half to death with her bare fists.
No, Natasha thought, gritting her teeth. This was entirely his doing. He chose to hide. He chose to run for years. He chose this. If he'd worked with the KGB in the first place, none of this would have happened, Ivan would still be alive…
A fresh flare of anger burned through Natasha and she finally saw it. Fear sparked in Vanko's eyes. About damn time.
"I have a lab," he croaked. "In the mountains. I keep the twins there. No one knows where it is but me."
Natasha waited while Vanko explained exactly where his hidden lab was, waited for him to write it down in his painstakingly slow scrawl. His hands shook and flecks of blood dripped from his face, landing on the page in small splashes, lacing his words with grim red punctuation.
When he was done, she slid the pad of paper closer to her with one finger and picked it up, studying it.
"A wise choice," she said.
Vanko leaned back in his chair in silence, his shoulders sagged with defeat. Natasha tapped her fingers against the pad of paper.
"If only you had made this decision earlier."
Then she cocked her fist and whipped out a right hook with all her strength. Vanko went limp, slumped to the side of his chair. Blood, drip, drip, dripped onto the cement floor.
As she stalked from the cell, Vanko's confession tucked under one arm, her knuckles caked with the old man's blood, she realized he was right. She wasn't as cold as Strucker, or Nemirovsky, or any other HYDRA agent.
She was much, much colder.