Let me know if this ending feels too rushed. I kind of hurried through it to wrap it all up soon.
His hands roamed across her skin absently, tracing the soft contours of her body, paying special attention to the most sensitive areas. He knew them so well, too well, even after years apart he still knew exactly what made her tick. She hated it, the control he had over her. She loved it too, how good he made her feel, he was the only one who ever made her feel good, the only one who ever cared.
She worked hard to keep her breathing steady and even, she hated to admit that it was easier said than done. Turning her head she refused to meet his gaze, and her took the opportunity to latch his mouth onto the exposed flesh of her neck. She stifled a gasp and shut her eyes, trying to ignore the way his slight stubble grated against her neck and chin. The soft pressure on her neck was gone, replaced my something much rougher as he nipped harshly at the thin skin, drawing blood and Natasha arched slightly off the bed at the sudden jolt of pain, groaning quietly.
"See, Natalia? This is who you really are." His hands were no longer gentle, pulling at her with bruising force.
"After all this time you still crave this?" He took another bite, into her collarbone this time and Natasha pulled harder at her restraints, desperate to be free.
"The pain." he metal reached up and jerked her head to the side by her hair, exposing more of her neck. "The pleasure." He kissed along her jaw.
"You miss it." He smiled against her skin, remembering all the times he'd caused the young girl to come apart, knowing he was the only one who had ever seen her like this. Natasha pulled at her restraints again, relieved when she felt the pressure give way and the shackles clattered to the floor. She sat upright, but her trainer had wrapped his arms around her in a crushing grip, pulling her so she was straddling his lap. She locked eyes with him for the first time and saw her own desire and need and hatred reflected back at her through his grey-blue eyes. Only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the room for a long minute before Natasha's resolve finally cracked and she crushed her mouth against his.
It was violent, all teeth and tongue fighting for dominance, both of them unwilling to back down, unwilling to give in. When she pulled away her lungs ached for want of oxygen, but nothing compared to seeing the surprise on her trainers face as she slapped him, hard. 21 years of bitterness and rage fueled her arm, the pain echoing in her own hand was more than satisfying as welt formed on his cheek in the shape of her hand, blood dripping down his face where her nails peeled the skin off. She smiled, even when she felt his metal hand close around her throat she smiled.
Hours later she was dragged, exhausted, back to her cell by the same guard who'd brought her out. Naked and bleeding she was thrown down onto the hard floor, breaking her fall on her knees, though that pain seemed insignificant compared to the whipping she'd experienced earlier. She knew Konrad was looking at her, felt his gaze boring into her as she managed to bring herself onto her hands and knees. Her body was shaking and she felt sick. What had she done?
Her body was littered in deep purple and black bruises, her hips bore the deep imprints of hands that gripped her too tight, bite marks left blood trickling down her body and her hands were covered in dried blood, flecks of human skin under her nails. Her hair was messy, her scalp bruised from being pulled on, and her lips was broken, swollen bleeding.
She felt weak as her mind tried to process what had happened, tried to rationalize what she'd just done. But, try as she might, she couldn't justify it. She'd been weak, given into him, given herself to him again when she'd sworn that she was done. Her whole body shook as images of him flashed before her, his eyes hungry and predatory as he forced her down onto the bed. She felt the bile rising in her throat, disgusted with her weakness, her failure. Unable to fight anything anymore she heaved, the acid burning her throat as she wretched up what little sustenance she had in her stomach.
"Fuck!" She swore under her breath in Russian when the shaking finally subsided and she began to think clearly again. Sitting back on her heels, she ran over her hair, trying to smooth the wild tangles to no avail. She looked around and found Konrad staring at her, he looked at her with shock and pity. For a moment he reminded her of Clint. Clint, she thought with a heavy sigh,for the first time she was glad he'd gotten reassigned. Though, it might make getting out of here a little easier with him, Konrad may have done well of his tests, but there was not test for this and his experience was limited, at best.
"Looks like they took it a little easier on you this time." He commented, remembering how the smell of blood and raw flesh filled the room when she was whipped. Remembering her body get torn apart while she stayed silent. She looked a million times better now than after that.
"Torture isn't always physical." She remarked dryly as she got up and walked over to the concrete wall she felt unsteady when she walked, her whole body tight and sore. Konrad got up and moved as well, getting as close to her as he could with the bars.
"Romanoff," She quirked her head at his sudden sincerity. "SHIELD will get us out of here." He promised, and Natasha snapped.
"If that's what you think then you truly know nothing about this world Konrad. SHIELD isn't coming for us, SHIELD doesn't even know where we are. We are alone. If you want to sit here and think wistfully that someone else is going to come and rescue you, be my guest, but know that the only thing you can ever rely on for anything is yourself. So if you feel like continuing to entertain childish ideas in your little fantasy land where we're actually the good guys and somebody will save us, do us both a favor and keep it to yourself. I'm not going to put up with the ramblings of an overconfident and naive boy who's seen nothing of this world outside a fucking training room." Natasha expected him to just shut up, but it seemed that she'd struck a nerve and now he was angry.
"So I'm supposed to sit here and accept that I'm going to die in some Russian hell-hole?" He was as stupid as he was vain.
"If you're not going to come up with any productive solutions, then you're supposed to shut up and let me fix it."
"How are you going to fix this?" She had to admit he had a good point, though she didn't have to admit it out loud. But, if there was anyone who could get them out, it was her. She knew this place, she knew these people, and she knew she was better than all of them. It seemed to her that she just needed time, and she had it.
"If I told you it would defeat the purpose of trying to make actual progress." Her voice dripped with irritation at him.
"What?"
"I don't trust you, Konrad. I don't think you're strong enough to withstand them, and I don't think you're a good enough liar to fool them. I tell you, you tell them and we're dead in the water." This seemed to make him even angrier, but she really didn't care because he stopped talking, unable to formulate a response, and they lapsed back into silence, waiting
Waiting for hours, days, weeks, she didn't know anymore. She'd lost track of guard changes long ago, and they stopped supplying her with food so there was no way to mark the passage of time anymore. Occasionally she was dragged out of her cell for whippings and beating, but they mostly left her to waste away in her cell because they knew that was more torture than a beating. Dying under duress, under fire, fighting for something, anything, was how she wanted to die. Lying here, helpless was a worse punishment than death, and they knew it too. Surprisingly, they kept Konrad fed and healthy, another form of torture as she saw food she so desperately craved just outside her reach. The only constants in her life anymore was the waiting, and the guards.
The guards were perhaps the worst of it. They would come at pretty regular intervals, whether they came at night or during the day Natasha didn't know, but it didn't really matter. It was always the same, they came when she was asleep or half-conscious, five or six at time. When she was stronger she fought back as they held her down and took turns with her, each one boasting of conquering the mighty Black Widow. Though as time wore one and became weaker fighting became harder and harder. Her once firm muscles, hardened by years of training atrophied, her lean stomach caved in as her body began to digest itself, her skin grew tight over her body until she could count every rib, her hair lost it's shine and hung limply down her gaunt, hollow face. She doubted she looked even remotely beautiful anymore, but still the guards came to find their release inside her living corpse. It made her sick, but she suffered through it all silently, as always.
Just when she had resigned herself to death, a plastic cup of water appeared in her cell, though she couldn't say when or how. She managed to drag herself over to the cup, and she swore that nothing ever tasted so sweet as she felt the cool liquid go down her ashen throat. Forcing herself to take small sips for fear of throwing it up, she drank slowly and patiently, feeling a meagre amount of strength returning to her.
This time when the guards came, she fought again. It was a feeble attempt, admittedly, but they weren't expecting it so she managed to gouge her fingers into one of the higher-ups eyes, a satisfies smile creasing her face as she felt the soft orb of tissue liquify as he screamed. The eyes were surprisingly fragile, she was surprised that more people didn't go directly for the eyes during a fight. That earned her rougher treatment than normal, a few cracked ribs, and a swollen lip for her trouble.
"Why did you do that?" Konrad asked her as she struggled to turn push herself up off her stomach to relieve the pressure on her ribcage, crawling feebly to the connecting bars of their cells. By the time she managed to pull herself into a seated position next the him, she was dizzy and out of breath and it took her a long time before she could speak again. When she finally caught her breath she poked a bone-thin arm through the bars and dropped a small keyring into his hand, smiling.
"How?" He asked disbelievingly turning the keys over silently in his hand.
"Sometimes, Konrad, time is the most useful weapon. Now, listen closely." His eyes snapped up, determination shining through and, for one, Natasha thought this might actually work out. "If you turn to the right, down at the end of this hallway there is a vent large enough for you o fit through. You need to follow that vent, it leads straight into the underground base of a silo. There will be a ladder that goes up that will lead you to the surface. This whole facility is underground, aboveground is nothing but an old farm. You will need to move quickly and carefully, putting at least 10 miles between you and this place before you even slow down. There's a section of woods not too far from where the ladder dumps you out, head there. Find a way back to base, back to SHIELD." Konrad cut Natasha off before she could finish talking, kind of grateful because her voice was shaky and thin, talking hurt.
"What about you?" Natasha would never understand why people always asked that question when the answer was almost always obvious.
"I can barely drag myself into a sitting position, Konrad, you won't make it ten feet with me. You'll be better on your own." She explained.
"I'm not leaving you." He told her, more firmly.
"Then you're dying here with me. Look, the best chance of both of us getting out is if you can get back to base and get SHIELD here. I'll be fine here." He looked uneasy, but said no more, he knew she was right.
"So, with the next guard change both guards at the end of the hall will likely be more interested in me than their job, that's your chance. Think you can do this?" Konrad bit his lip in hesitation, not a promising sign, but nodded anyways.
"How do you know all of this?"
"I was a teenager once Konrad." She shrugged, as if it were all the explanation he might need.
"So?" He was still confused, Natasha thought he was a bit dull most of the time, this being no exception.
"So, I snuck out." Konrad seemed shocked. The fact that the great Natasha Romanoff snuck out like an average teenager amused him greatly. His amusement soon faded as he looked at Natasha, practically passing out from exhausted from having talked so much. She was able to form coherent thoughts less than half the time she was conscious now, her mind slipping in and out of lucidity. Sometimes she would just ramble in Russian, and he understood none of it. Sometimes there were names, none that he recognized. And other times, most often, it was a number, just one. 1, 206. She would repeat the same number over and over and over until Konrad wanted to just strangle her and get it over with. Natasha never seemed to know what she was saying, or when she was saying it half the time. Her body and mind slowly deteriorated until she was nothing more than a shell of the great assassin, that was truly the worst form of torture.
He could tell that her mind was slipping away again, retreating back into wherever she went and he palmed the keyring, waiting until the next guard change.
In just under two days, Konrad found himself back on SHIELD's base in NYC.
"Clint!" Bobbi came bursting, wide-eyed, into the shooting range. Something was wrong, he could feel it in the uneasy way she looked at him.
"What happened?" He set his bow down lightly on the table in front of him and turned to face her.
"I don't know. Coulson wants to see you, he says it's about Natasha." He tensed, but kept his face blank, not willing to jump to conclusions. He nodded and went off to find Coulson, thinking about all the possibilities for Coulson wanting to see him, none of them were good.
"Agent Barton." Coulson greeted as Clint entered his office. "Take a seat." He motioned towards the set of chairs in front of his desk.
"I'm fine standing." He crossed his arms and planted his feet more firmly on the ground. "Why did you want to see me."
"It's about Romanoff." He paused, but when Clint said nothing, he simply continued. "She and Konrad were sent on simple intel interception mission in Russia, we haven't heard from either of them in two weeks."
Clint's heart dropped and fear took hold of him, fear and anger.
"Two weeks, Coulson? Two fucking weeks and you forgot to tell me that Natasha never checked in?" Coulson sighed.
"We're telling you now because it's been two weeks and there's no trace of either of them. We've had agents here working to find her and agents on the ground in Russia as well, we've got nothing. I'm sorry, Clint, but we're declaring them both MIA." Coulson's tone was even, steady, calm.
MIA? Everybody around here knew that declaring someone MIA was to effectively declare them dead. Nobody every came back from MIA.
"Coulson, she's not dead." Clint knew it, absolutely knew it. There was no way Natasha could be dead, not by Russian hands, if anything Natasha had told him had been true. Clint knew that it was so there was no way she could be dead, he refused to even think of it.
"Clint, the building she was supposed to infiltrate was blown to pieces, body parts were strewn around the area." Coulson was not one to put things delicately. "She's gone."
No. She was not dead, she couldn't be. Natasha was too good, too strong, too proud to die. Either she'd abandoned SHIELD (he liked to think that she would never) or she was captured. But, weeks turned into months with no sign of her or Konrad.
Clint was angry, angry that he was the last to know. Fury and Coulson gave him a wide berth and he hadn't been sent on a mission since they'd told him, fearing his instability. Bobbi tried to comfort him as best she could, but her words never seemed to quite reach him.
It would be two months before Coulson called him back to his office again.
"We found her." Three words, three little words and the weight on his shoulders fell away. The happiness and relief he felt were so profound that he could've kissed Coulson, but his moment was short live.
"How?" Coulson explained that they'd received a call from Konrad from a pay phone outside Magadan and they'd extracted him back to base. Coulson hadn't even finished explaining everything when Clint turned and stormed out of the room, finding his way to medical. He found Konrad, and suddenly he saw red. Shoving the doctors out of the way he yanked Konrad to his feet by his collar.
"You left her?" It was more of an accusation than a question. Konrad had thought Natasha was terrifying, he's never seen Clint in a rage, that was something to truly fear.
"How could you leave her?" Clint shook the terrified agent roughly, his head lolling back and forth.
"Barton!" Fury. Clint sighed and shoved Konrad away from him in disgust.
"My office, Barton, now." Clint reluctantly followed the director back to his office, wanting more than anything to throttle Konrad just a little bit more. One they were both seated in Fury's office he calmed down considerably, taking solace in knowing Natasha was alive.
"Konrad has given us the intel we need to plan a raid. I want you heading the team." That was a shock, he expected Fury to try and bench him. He'd been preparing an argument on the way over and everything.
"When do we leave?" Normally he would've questioned Fury about his decision, but not this time, not with Natasha's life on the line.
"Four hours. Retrieving Romanoff is SHIELD's top priority right now. Two dozen of out top field agents will be on the ground in addition to air support. Be in the hangar precisely as 2030 hours to depart." He dismissed Clint with a wave of his hand. "And Clint," he added as his hand gipped the doorknob. "Be prepared for the worst case-scenario. We don't know what she's been through since Konrad escaped." Since Konrad abandoned his partner in the hands of her worst enemies, since Konrad left her to die, he thought, though said none of it. In four hours he would be on his way to get his partner back, his real partner.
Bobbi was assigned as part of the team so he went to go find her, he needed to talk to somebody. He ranted, vented, raged. How could Konrad leave her? Why had it take so long? What would they find? Bobbi saw through his anger to the fear underneath it, the fear for Natasha, for her safety and her life. Natasha meant a lot to Clint, Bobbi knew, so she listened patiently, knowing there would be no way to console him until he had his partner back. The last few months had been rough on him, rough on her, and she would do anything to help him. Even if helping him meant delivering another woman to him she would do it.
Gunshots. Gunshots? Natasha couldn't tell which direction they came from, if they were real at all. These days it was getting tough for her to discern reality from dreams, or were they hallucinations? The only thing she knew was real was the concrete slab beneath her skin. She'd been curled into a loose fetal position on the ground, unable to move, for what felt like centuries, no idea of how much time had actually passed, though she knew it didn't matter anyways. She heard her cell door swing open and she couldn't even the muster the energy to move her head to see who had come from her.
"Get a medic on standby." Clint barked the order into his comm when he saw her. He had to do a double take to make sure he had the right woman here. Shock, horror, disgust, none of them quite summed up what he felt when he found her. She looked more like a skeleton than a living person, bone covered only by the thinnest layer of skin that bore bruises and welts and cuts. Seeing her curled up in a shallow pool of pink stagnant water he feared he'd come to late. Rushing to her side he checked for a pulse, it was weak, but still there.
The second his hand touched her skin she recoiled violently, her eyes jerking open in fear and confusion. Her whole body shook and shivered, a single number, 1024, tumbling from her lips over and over on repeat.
"Natasha, it's Clint. You're safe now, Natasha. I've got you." He assured her gently, though she didn't seem to hear him. She said nothing, only the number, 1024. Her eyes were distant, as if she wasn't really seeing him, or anything.
"Oh my god." Clint looked up to see Bobbi, horror plain on her face as she took in the sight of the near starved and beaten Natasha. She managed to pull herself out of her shocked state to hand Clint the blanket she'd brought, thinking it'd probably be needed. She hated that she was right.
Draping the heavy fabric over her shivering body, Clint gathered Natasha in his arms. She felt too light, too bony. Her skin was papery and yellowing, her eyes dull and dead. He clutched her tightly against with enough pressure to quiet her shaking, but gentle enough so he didn't break anything or aggravate any injuries and carried her out. 1024, the number, still on repeat. Konrad was at the end of the long concrete hall, waiting to see Natasha. He wish he could've been shocked at her condition, but he'd been forced to watch her deterioration first hand, he'd watched as everything about her slipped away into nothingness.
"She never screamed." Konrad said, to Clint or to himself he didn't know. "Not once."