Gasp! An update? A real update?
Yes, yes it is. I apologize for my lack of activity, I've been traveling abroad again, and since I've been in another country for the past few months I've been very preoccupied. Anyway, things are slowing down again, so thankfully I had some time to write!
I don't own Marvel, I just play with the characters
You can't wake up, this is not a dream,
You're part of a machine, you are not a human being,
I think there's a flaw in my code,
These voices won't leave me alone
They returned to base in relative silence, the roar of the blades of the helicopter drowning out most of their words anyway. Docking at the SHIELD base, the team quickly reported to Fury about their mission. The director seemed surprise at how Vera handled the mission, but made no comment otherwise, dismissing them to their quarters once all was settled. The only time Vera spoke up was when addressing the deaths of their targets, who were apparently worth quite a bit of money on the black market. The girl was not happy that she could not collect their bounties, and expressed her dissatisfaction with an ice-cold glare.
The young woman stormed back towards their living quarters, her narrowed gaze the only sign of her aggravation. Natasha and Clint followed behind, the redhead shaking her head while the archer seemed more amused than anything.
She's a greedy little thing. Clint thought in amusement as Vera shut the door to her room without so much as glancing in their direction. So much for bonding during the mission.
On his left, Natasha crossed her arms as she frowned at Vera's door. "She seriously needs to work on her teamwork."
Clint snorted at that, earning himself a dark look from his partner. "Like you were any better when we found you!"
"I wasn't." Natasha admitted. "But she puts the team at risk if she continues to operate like a solo agent."
"It's a bad habit." Clint agreed, thinking of his own solo career before he had been caught by SHIELD. "And hard to break. We need to give her time, Nat. It's only the first mission after all. She needs to get used to us."
Natasha sighed as Clint patted her shoulder. "I know, but that still poses a danger to our missions until we find some kind of coherency."
He chuckled as he pulled away and began walking to his own room. "I'm not too worried about it. If anyone can get through to her, you can." Clint winked at her as his door slid open and closed behind him.
Natasha shook her head before turning to enter her own room down the hall. You give me too much credit, Clint. This one is nothing like me at all.
She sat on her bed for a long while, hunched over with her elbows resting on her knees. Holding her hands with their palms up, she stared at the dirt encrusted on her calluses, beneath her fingernails, the smell of fire and the faint bitterness of ash hanging like a dark cloud above her.
I don't like fire… She thought absently as she remembered the fateful night that ended her official time as a Widow. With a sigh, she stood up and stretched her arms, feeling a small relief when a couple bones popped and she rolled her shoulders.
Why am I here? She wondered as she methodically began to peel off her bodysuit, allowing it to hit the floor as she walked to the sterile bathroom attached to her room. Standing under the shower, she switched on the nozzle and let the cold water hit her back, waiting patiently for the warm water to kick in. She felt confined within the walls of SHIELD. A prisoner in all but name. She yearned for the days without their constant oversight, when she could go wherever and kill whomever.
Fingers twitching at the thought, she snapped off the water and hurriedly toweled off. Returning to her room, she stared at the spare clothes that the other Widow had lent her, having been tossed onto her bed without a care just before they left for their mission.
A knock on her door interrupted her daze.
"Vera?" The redhead in question called through the door.
Vera? She tilted her head in brief confusion. Oh right, that's me.
She walked towards the door and tapped a button on the keypad beside it. The door slid open with a whisper and she found herself staring at a much different version of Natasha, dressed in civilian clothing for the first time since Vera had known her.
"We're gonna go grab something to eat." The redhead said, jerking her thumb behind her in a motion to include the archer that leaned against the wall behind her. "Thought I'd at least offer for you to join us."
"I am fine." Vera said in her usual monotone, allowing the door to shut before the other woman could protest.
"V-Vera!" Natasha's muffled voice exclaimed in outrage on the other side of the door.
She walked back to her bed without a second glance, hearing Clint coax his partner into leaving the door and heading down to the mess hall. As if I'd want to go there during dinner hours.
She sat on the floor and began to stretch out her muscles, still sore from the mission. Half an hour later and she was almost done with her stretching exercises when she heard the familiar cadence of Natasha and Clint's footfalls entering the hallway outside her door. The footsteps paused outside her door for a moment, before walking away, leaving her in peace.
Ten more minutes and she was finishing up her stretches, but Vera still could not shake the restless feeling in her bones. Despite the fact that she had only just returned from a mission, and had even taken a shower, Vera quickly threw on some workout clothes and headed down to where she had heard the training rooms were located.
After taking a few wrong turns, the Widow found what she was looking for, and was relieved to see that the rooms were empty at this hour. She began with tumbling, a simple yet crucial part of her fighting style, practicing handstands, cartwheels, and various flips, from various angles. Then she moved on to the punching bag, although when the first one flew off its hook (and nearly taking a chunk of the ceiling with it) she was quickly forced to temper the strength of her blows, which only served to further irritate her. Two downed punching bags later, Vera had turned to sparring with invisible enemies when she heard the doors to the training room open.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" A gravelly male voice interrupted her concentration.
Vera pointedly ignored him as she continued with her sequences.
"Oi –"
Whoever this man was, he had to be rather stupid. Vera felt a hand land on her shoulder, and in less than a second she had flipped the man over and slammed him into the ground, her hand immediately pinning him down by the throat.
"Ack!" He gurgled beneath her, squirming for a moment before his fighting instincts seemed to kick in and he made a swing at her.
Vera easily ducked out of the way and leapt backwards, creating distance between them. The soldier – for he was clearly dressed in a SHIELD uniform – jumped up from the ground and seemed to take her retreat as an invitation. He lunged at her, but Vera was already darting out of the way, spinning just out of his reach but remaining close enough to attempt another hit. She waited until he lost his initial steam before she dove back in, slamming her foot into the back of his knee, making him loose his balance, and then aiming a punch at his neck.
However, the man caught her wrist and used her momentum to yank her forward, sending a punch towards her face. Vera twisted in his grip, somehow sliding underneath his punch and pulling her feet under her as she launched upwards and slammed her shoulder into his chest, pushing him down onto the mat. They grappled for a moment, each one fighting for the top, until he managed to pin her to the mat.
But Vera had intentionally allowed him into her defenses, using their proximity to slam her forehead into his, dazing the man just long enough for her to throw him off. She rolled to her feet and sent a roundhouse kick towards his temple. The soldier managed to stumble back and out of her range, shaking his head to clear his ears of the ringing.
"Feisty, eh?" He chuckled as he fell into a fighting stance, and they leapt towards one another again.
This continued for a good ten minutes before she noticed that he was tiring, thought he man hid it well. She went on the defensive, idly dodging and deflecting his blows, biding time until he faltered – and then she went in for the kill.
His punch came at her a little slower than usual, and it was all she needed to reach forward, circling her arm around his as she struck his neck like a snake. The pressure point she hit caused his arm to instantly go numb, distracting the man long enough so that she could spin around to his back, wrapping on arm around his shoulder and kneeing him in the side.
She heard the breath leave his lungs in a surprised wheeze, before she pushed him away and backed up, waiting to see if he would continue the fight.
"Okay, okay…" The man panted as he turned to face her, face screwed in pain as he rubbed his aching ribs. "You win, girly."
Slight accent. She noted idly. New York.
He paused to look her up and down, evaluating her in light of their sparring, before a crooked grin stretched across his face. "The name's Brock Rumlow. Mah boys just call me Rumlow, or 'Rumy' if they're feelin' too comfortable."
He held out his hand to shake.
Vera glanced over the man as well, tall and muscular like most soldiers, tanned due to his days in the field with a few small scars visible on his face and hands, a nick on the chin, a slice through one of his eyebrows, his nose slightly skewed in a way that told her it had been broken more than a few times. He had a darker aura to him, more akin to the mercenaries she would work with in the underground rather than the shining toy soldiers that littered the halls of SHIELD. He fought dirty, like a true fighter, someone that learned on the street rather than the military academies.
Huh. She could respect that. Vera reached out her hand and grasped his, shaking it. His eyes lit up a moment before it happened.
He yanked her forward and attempted to flip her over his back. Yet the split second his expression changed Vera had prepared herself, and slipping her hand out of his grip, she pushed herself off of his chest and backflipped away from him, landing lightly without the slightest sign of panic.
She met his eyes with her own bored gaze. "Was that supposed to prove something, Yankee?"
"Ha!" The man called Rumlow laughed boisterously. "You're really somethin'. Not even fazed, huh?"
"Your expression gave you away the second before you acted." She told him as she turned away to walk over to the water fountain, wiping the stray drops away with the hem of her tank top. "You also tensed up before you acted. I saw it in your muscles first."
She turned back at him, finding the man studying her with a strange gleam in his eye.
"Who are you?" He asked, crossing his arms as a smirk settled naturally upon his features.
"They call me Vera." She answered simply. "I'm new."
A surprised look crossed Rumlow's face. "I haven't heard about any new recruits."
"I was drafted." She deadpanned as she turned to head for the door, deciding that the conversation was becoming unnecessary.
"Whoa, hold up." The soldier trotted up to her side, walking beside her as she exited the training room. "What do you mean drafted?"
Vera gave him a measuring glance, knowing that the truth of her involvement with SHIELD was classified. "Let's just say Fury gave me a deal I couldn't refuse."
"Heh, you mean like Hawkeye?" He asked her.
She raised a brow at that. "Agent Barton?"
"Yeah," Rumlow nodded. "He was a real trouble kid. Became a mercenary as a teenager, began taking assassinations around sixteen, and would have gone off the deep end if he hadn't been caught by SHIELD. They agreed not to lock him up and throw away the key if he sold his soul to SHIELD."
Vera was surprised. Clint? Hawkeye? As in the easy-going archer that always got in trouble for snacking at inappropriate times?
"Huh." Was her only reply.
"So you another one of his strays, then?" Rumlow asked. "Like the Black Widow?"
She assumed he was referring to Clint's recruitment of Natasha, considering her title as Black Widow was still a secret. Still, the conversation was veering into dangerous territory; it was time to end it.
"Must you talk so much?" She asked him, pointedly walking away from him, not quite sure where the hallway led as long as it was away from him.
He stopped to watch her leave, making no move to follow her. "Okay girly, I get what you're sayin'. I'll back off for now. See ya 'round."
I hope not. Vera thought with an exasperated huff, walking the halls until she eventually found the mess hall. It was rather late for dinner, and thankfully most of the room was empty. She picked up a couple plates of food, balancing four plates on her arms as she sat down on a table as far away from the other inhabitants of the room as possible, a shadowy corner that fit her tastes just fine.
The food was nothing fancy or delicious. She merely chose the healthiest options, full of protein and carbs. Vera needed to eat a lot due to her heightened metabolism and her recent sparring match.
She was interrupted from her meditative thoughts by a pair of footfalls approaching her. Her eyes slid to her left, though Vera did not acknowledge the person standing just off to her side, merely waited for them to speak.
"You are the Black Widow?" A man's voice asked softly, clearly having no intention of anyone overhearing their conversation.
That caught her attention. Vera turned her head far enough to look the man in the eyes, except her gaze was interrupted by a pair of black sunglasses. He was a classic, nameless messenger, an exceptionally average looking man in a suit.
"That depends on who's asking." Was her reply.
He handed her a folded piece of paper. "This is for you."
Vera took the paper carefully, sniffing it once in case of poison, and then flipping it open and scanning the words quickly.
"Who do you work for?" She asked the man as her eyes picked out the key words on the page.
"I work for SHIELD, technically." He replied, causing her to arch an eyebrow. "I just work for someone higher up than Fury."
"One of the illusive Council members, I presume?" She asked, folding the strange note and tucking it into the waistband of her leggings.
The man coughed into his hand. "I am not at liberty to say."
"I see." She nodded, turning back to her food. "You are dismissed."
She could tell the dismissal miffed the man, as he huffed under his breath, thinking she could not hear, before walking away with a rigid walk and stomping feet. Vera pulled out the paper again and read it over again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Hello 117,
I welcome you to SHIELD. I sincerely hope you are settling in with ease. I have an offer that I think you would appreciate. Fury may act tough, however I think we both know that he will never use you to your full potential. I intend to change that. You are a great spy and a great weapon. I presume that being limited in combat by illusions of mercy hinders your growth.
This is why I extend my own hand of friendship. I have my own group of elite SHIELD operatives that are willing to do what is necessary, the dirty work that many among SHIELD are hesitant to act upon. They are another branch of SHIELD operations, but work directly for the Council. Should you accept this offer, you will not be removed from your current position under Fury, however you will receive jobs that are outside of his command and you will be allowed to 'go all out' as the saying goes. Think of it as a side job, hm?
I look forward to your response.
The note ended there. She assumed that whichever Council member set this up, they would have a way to find her for her answer. Until then, all she could do was think over it. Standing up, Vera left her dirty dishes for the staff to clean up as she headed back to her rooms in a brisk walk, hoping not to run into any more shady characters.
Arriving to her room, Vera sat on her bed and leaned her elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the floor. Thoughts whirled within her mind, wondering just how deep SHIELD went. It was beginning to remind her a little too much of games the Soviets used to play. Her eyes darted to the note on her end table.
She reached for it, glancing down to memorize the handwriting for a moment before she stood up and walked into her restroom. As she had thought, the note disintegrated as she ran it under the water of her sink, leaving no evidence of her contact.
Glancing back up into her mirror, Vera studied her face, the dark eyes that seemed void of light, the sharp angles of her face, and the pale scar that nicked the left side of her jawbone. She looked hungry, anxious, restless. She wanted to fight, she wanted to kill. Killing reminded her of what she was, what she was meant for. It stopped her from dreaming of more, of reaching for what she could not have. She killed to kill her own humanity.
I'll take your offer. She thought to the person that had written that note, clenching a fist until her fingernails drew blood on her palm. She raised her hand and began to lick up the red welling up. As long has it keeps me numb.
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