Chapter 38
Sweat and Gunpowder and Aftershave
Angry and upset at the confusing new situation, the little goddess scowled down at the orange-haired woman who had been threatening Yakov.
"What did you do?" The woman's companion, a female as tall as Yakov, but with butter-colored hair, swept down to touch fingers to a pulse point.
She crossed her arms. "I made her sleep. Yakov is my friend, and I don't like seeing him threatened."
He shifted his footing.
The woman's lips retreated from the hard line they'd been pressed into. "Fair enough. But in Romanova's defense, the ammo in her gun isn't lethal."
Yakov's injuries during the teaching sessions hadn't been lethal either. They'd made him whimper and cry all the same.
"My name's Bobbi, by the way." One knee pressed to the floor, the woman pulled off a glove and held out her empty hand, little finger parallel to the floor.
Why?
Yakov nudged her.
"I don't understand."
Bobbi and Yakov made frustrated expressions. He grabbed Bobbi's hand and met her eye, then their hands released.
"Oh. Is this a gesture of greeting?"
"Yes." Bobbi answered after a moment. "It's supposed to show that I mean no harm."
Yakov nodded.
The little goddess mirrored Yakov's action. From Bobbi, she sensed excitement, fear, and affection. Probably affection. The basis for that came from the shadowy parts of her mind. The places where she thought she should have memories.
"That gunfire sounds too close for comfort." Bobbi muttered, glancing down the hall. "We should leave now."
Down at her, Yakov nodded.
"If I wake her up, will she threaten Yakov again?" she asked.
"Possibly, but she'll back down if you tell her to. Romanova will do almost anything you tell her to," was Bobbi's soft answer.
Why would she? Intrigue crawled down the little goddess' spine. She wanted to know more about this intense woman and the places outside of the base. "Okay." She bent and woke Romanova.
A low groan came out of her. Her eyes flew open, and she was abruptly on her feet.
"I didn't realize someone could move that fast," burst from the little goddess as she unfolded. "Wow."
Sharp green eyes latched on her.
"Don't threaten Yakov again, and I'll leave with you."
"Fine." Romanova made a funny, aborted gesture. Her features tightened and sparkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. "Let's go."
Yakov in front, Romanova beside her, and Bobbi behind, they jogged up levels that she was familiar with, then ones she was not, all littered with sleeping comrades until they were outside, a courtyard under a fierce red sunrise.
Explosively loud noise startled her, and Romanova jumped on her, dragged her to the hard ground, covered her with her own body. The same loud noise erupted from her gun. But the little goddess' attention had fixed on Yakov. He was on the ground. Blood was oozing out of him, turning dirt to mud.
"Yakov!" She struggled with Romanova. "Let me help him, dammit!"
Romanova blinked down at her. Had she not even noticed Yakov going down? "Stay low." Romanova reached out and simply dragged Yakov's body toward her one-handed.
She would have wondered more about the woman's strength, yet the long smear of blood under Yakov garnered her attention, and she pressed a hand to his face, swallowed hard at the multiple injuries. His heart had two ragged holes in it. He was already dead. "Not yet." She growled. "You're the only person I know, Yakov, you can't be dead!"
His brain wasn't deteriorating yet. His body was warm. His cells were still functioning.
She told his body to fix itself. And it obeyed. Heart muscle regrew and closed the holes. Not as fast as she was used to. He'd already lost half of his blood from the holes in his chest. His heart thudded into motion. Blood pumped through repaired vessels. Membranes sealed around organs. Muscle knit together. Skin again protected insides. Pale blue eyes opened and found her. She smiled as she forced him into restful sleep.
"Not even death stops you, little goddess. Remarkable." Petrovich's crinkly voice drifted over her.
He was standing in a circle of downed comrades. Sergei and others she recognized. A man with dark hair and a shining metal arm was pointing a large gun at Petrovich.
"I was going to test that next week." Petrovich went on. "Progressively, of course. Blood loss, drowning, electrocution..." he kept going, listing the ways he would have made Yakov suffer.
She rose, her hands covered in Yakov's blood and caught Romanova's eye, touched her skin. "What awaits me wherever you want to take me?"
"Home," coughed out of her.
Whatever she had been expecting, that wasn't it.
"Your brothers, your friends." Shining green eyes bore into her. "People who care about you and want you safe and happy."
Happy.
"Happiness is irrelevant." Petrovich spat. "Your gifts are wasted with the Avengers. Stay with me, little goddess. I will show you your true potential."
Rage burned through Romanova, and she shifted her body between him and the little goddess. "I'll die before I let you ruin her or anyone else again," growled from her.
Again?
"I must admit, Widow. I did not expect you to find us this quickly. I was sure that you did not remember this place when I found it had not been burned like the Red Room."
Fresh confusion hit her.
The emotions storming through Romanova seemed ready to explode. She was outwardly quivering. "You're going to spend what's left of your life in a cell a lot like what you had Emily in," she hissed.
"How will you get me there?" Petrovich purred. "By now, my comrades will know the base is compromised. They will not allow you to leave Russia with me or her. I will remain here and continue my work or your jets will be shot down, killing me, you, and Sekhmet."
Continue his work? She took in Yakov's pale face made paler by the lost blood. Sleep would preserve his energy while his blood was replaced, she told herself. He was going to be fine.
"We're g-" Romanova's voice stopped as the little goddess started toward Petrovich.
A hard grip around her arm stopped her. "Let me go." She told the woman. "Or am I your prisoner now?"
Hurt splashed through Romanova, but she let go. The little goddess spent a moment to contemplate Romanova's choice and continued her stride toward Petrovich, whose smirk thickened.
"Good choice, little goddess." His voice was low with pleasure, victory.
Close enough, she lifted her bloody palm to his cheek. His body would tell her the truth of his response to her questions. "What will you do with me once you've found the limits of my gift and taught me everything you want?"
"I'll use you to restore Mother Russia to her proper place as dominant power in the world!"
"And you'll do it by hurting her children. People like Yakov."
"If it gives me glorious tools like you, of course!" He laughed without remorse or compassion, his confidence high and arrogant.
A tool. Deep inside her, the shadows shifted and roared. They screamed about the children he'd hurt, would hurt, how that was the cruelest action any person could take, hurting the helpless, the innocent, the future. "You took my memories to make me into a tool that would hurt children."
"Did that fool tell you?" He spat in Yakov's direction. "Even without a tongue, he betrays me again. I will have to cut his fingers off next. He won't need those to serve as your practice dummy."
She heard Romanova make a strangled sound. The shadows howled about it. They didn't like it. She didn't like it either. "When I touch someone new, it takes me several seconds to learn their body enough to make them sleep without hurting them. Why was I already familiar with Romanova?"
Cunning eyes slotted.
"Why do I feel like I know everything about her?"
A harsh intake of air sounded, and she knewwithout looking that it was Romanova. Why? How did she know even the minuscule of variations in Romanova's sounds?
Petrovich sighed. "If she had not rebelled like a foolish, petulant child, she would have brought you to me herself. Instead, she allowed herself to believe in the lie called love and ruined all the careful training given her."
Love? The shadows cheered.
"The Black Widow and Sekhmet would have been the perfect team," he sighed longingly.
The Black Widow. No. That was wrong. "Romanova isn't a spider. She's," her tongue felt thick and heavy. It twisted inside her mouth, searching for words, a way to express what the shadows were yelling about.
"She was my greatest creation."
No. She wasn't anyone's creation.
"But you could have been greater. Such a waste."
Ice sliced through her heart. "I'm not a waste, father."
"What?"
She was looking down at a mostly-naked man who was tied to the frame of a rusted metal bed in the basement of an abandoned coal plant. It'd been out of service for a decade, but high school kids occasionally visited the creepy place under dares. Emily had gone simply because her parents had told her not to. This morning, she'd lured her father into the garage and hit him with a baseball bat. He'd fallen unconscious immediately. Thankfully. Stuffing him in the trunk of the car had been way more difficult than she'd planned, but she'd managed. Dragging him out, dumping him onto a sled, and pulling the load over mid-winter snow had been much easier. Even lifting him on the frame had been easier than getting him into the trunk.
When she was done with him, putting him into position to "kill himself" would be a lot of work too. But it would be worth it. The bastard. Her chest still hurt from the last time he'd lost his temper and hit her. The medical encyclopedia that she'd checked out at the library suggested that she might have bruised or cracked ribs.
After today, Heath Fortune would never hurt her or her little brothers again.
He was the helpless one now. Under him was a pool of blood and urine. His underwear was stained with his own piss and shit. She'd have to burn it later. Above the giant nose on his face -the one that he'd passed on to her- were walnut-brown eyes full of terror and tears pleading with her to let him go.
"You're just a horrible excuse for a dad, and you're going to make up for by helping me learn all about the gift you call me a freak for having. I'm going to see how many times I can kill you and bring you back. We're already at five. How many times you bet I can do it?"
He started crying and pleading for mercy. She lifted a simple plastic bag, covered his mouth and nose, watched and scanned until he'd stopped struggling, his lungs stopped convulsing, his heart stopped beating. Blue tinged his lips. Capillaries had burst in his eyes. He reminded her of dead people on TV. Not quite real. She waited five minutes before forcing his heart to contract. Blood pumped through arteries, capillaries, veins. Wrenched back to life, he coughed, heaved a great lungful of air, panted until he had the energy to cry once more.
"Emmie, please."
She hated that name. This time, she strangled him by squeezing his airway shut with her bare hands. He taught her a lot by dying. She would have learned more, but replacing lost blood wasn't an option. Lessons in cutting, tearing, ripping, and gouging had been cut short when she'd realized that blood loss wasn't something she could fix. His body didn't have the energy and fluid reserves to keep up. Death by asphyxiation and shock and electrocution were her only choices that would last long enough to satisfy her.
And it wasn't long enough.
Harsh laughter yanked her from her father to Petrovich. "Sekhmet indeed!" He roared with amusement until he sputtered into harsh coughing. "If only I had you as a child, little goddess!"
Another child to break like he had an innocent Natalia Romanova in the Red Room. In swift, brutal movements, she knelt, grabbed a knife from Sergei's belt, and drove it into Petrovich's skull via his ear canal. Already dead, his body kept moving with the momentum of her thrust and thudded to the floor among the soldiers.
Emily Fortune straightened and spat on Ivan Petrovich's corpse. "My childhood was bad enough, you sick fuck." She lifted her gaze to find that several familiar people had made their way into the courtyard. Friends, the shadows cooed as they faded, were replaced by things hidden by Petrovich's horrible TV and headphones.
"Emily?" hesitant, shivering, a husky voice kissed her.
She turned to meet pretty green eyes sparkling in the morning sun. "Lisishka." No. That wasn't right. "Little fox," wasn't quite right either. "Mon petit renard rouge." There. That was it. That made Natalia's expression widen, open up, brighten, glow. "I can't believe I forgot how gorgeous you are." She admired the sweat-smeared face, the frizzy hair escaping practical braids, and the not-form-exposing catsuit that covered Natalia's body. What looked like hard, overlapping plating protected her vital spots. "When'd you start wearing something besides spandex?"
Rigid, Natalia stared at her.
"You know," a teasing male voice drifted between them. Holding a sleek recurve bow in one hand, carrying a quiver of high-tech arrows on his back, and wearing protective gear much like Natalia's, was Hawkeye. Clint Barton. "This is usually the part in movies where the hero kisses the girl."
"What's wrong with nervous, witty monologuing?" she retorted. Because her memories were spinning, and Natasha looked ready to run or cry, and Emily kind of felt the same. What if she was dreaming and woke up still locked in Petrovich's basement with silent Yakov as her only company?
"The distinct lack of kissing," a dry, light female tone.
Agent Morse. Bobbi.
"I knew you wanted to kiss me." Emily sassed.
Delicate, calloused hands were suddenly holding her face. "I don't share well," breathed across her lips.
Emily smiled at the thrill of warmth surging in Natalia and brushed her nose against a much smaller one. "Want this giant schnoz all to yourself, huh?"
"You are the other half of my together. All of you," whispered into her mouth.
Reassurance blanketed her, and she melted against Natalia, lips and breasts and hips pressing close, arms curling tightly, fingers digging painfully.
"Finally." A grumble found its way past the rush of bliss in Emily's skull. "We can go home now."
Both of them broke the kiss to turn their heads, cheeks rubbing, to look at Agent May's grumpily unimpressed face.
"Emily!" squealed from behind May, and Skye barreled around her to envelop both Emily and Natalia in a tight hug. "Oh thank God."
"Hey, Skye." she managed to breathe out.
"Daisy," came an off-handed, probably oft-repeated correction, as she stepped back to let Emily breathe again. "God, we thought for sure that jerk was going to use HYDRA's mind wipe on you. The last person I met who'd had that used on her did not turn out well."
"He did." Emily replied.
Skye -no, dammit- Daisy's eyes widened. "No shit? But you remembered me. You're kissing her."
"I guess he wasn't as thorough as he thought he was, because it's all coming back."
"I'm going to go warm up the engines." May announced and headed toward a pair of open gates leading out of the compound.
A winged man landed among them in a rush of muffled engine noise. "Perimeter's secured. Hey, Emily. Good to see you." Enthusiastic welcome beamed at her.
Sam. She smiled at him, then up at a red and gold figure dropping toward them. The metal face retracted. Tony grinned. Emily twisted to take in the man with the metal arm who'd cornered Petrovich. Bucky adjusted the weight of an impressive sniper rifle on his shoulder. His brooding eyes studied her intently.
"Looks like serum brains aren't the only ones the memory wipes don't work great on." Emily informed him.
His broad shoulders lifted and fell as relief smoothed his edges. "Good."
"Emily!" roared Steve as he burst from the base's interior, shield on his back. He ran right up to her, hugged her out of Natasha's arms and off the ground. He smelled of sweat and gunpowder and aftershave.
"I can't breathe," she almost didn't want to say.
"Sorry," and she was returned to her feet. He beamed down at her. "You're okay."
One of the exterior walls exploded, stone and dust going everywhere as a giant green blur smashed through. SHIELD agents stiffened and fingered guns. Avengers idly waited for Hulk to assess the situation. He huffed dust from his nostrils and strode up to Emily in three huge steps. "Redhead find little spots," rumbled from him. "Good."
More SHIELD agents joined them under the golden sunlight. Hunter. Mack. Coulson.
"How," Emily turned back to Natalia, "Did you get everyone here?"
"Are you kidding?" Clint answered. "They showed up all on their own." He glanced in the direction of May's retreat. "Except that one. She couldn't stand the idea of all these emotionally compromised idiots screwing up a mission and ruining SHIELD's shiny new image."
At the word "ruining," Emily's gaze went to Petrovich's body.
"I admit, I'm a little jealous you got to him first." Clint said. "Nice form, by the way. Very smooth. Have you been practicing?"
The hours spent keeping her sanity intact with exercise nodded. "Yea."
"No more smash?" Hulk grumbled.
"No, big guy," was Clint's chuckle.
"Sun's getting awful low." Natasha murmured.
Hulk's eyes narrowed, but then he seemed to sigh, and he faded down to Bruce. He stumbled among the rubble until Steve's hand caught and steadied him. "Thanks, Cap. Hello, Emily."
"Hey, Bruce," she returned softly before turning to Natasha. "Thought you were working on actually touching Hulk to get him to let the pink out." Emily asked.
Close enough that her body heat was palpable, Natasha shrugged. "It's not necessary every time."
Fingers twitched, and Emily smiled down at them, slid her own hand among them. Natasha's hand closed on hers. Her emotions continued to whirl inside her, but they were far from the broiling mess they'd been a minute ago. They both leaned closer to each other.
"Alright." Steve cleared his throat. "Base is secure, Emily rescued. Let's pack up and get out before this guy's friends show up."
"Bring Yakov." Emily grabbed his forearm. "Please."
Blue eyes, way more intense than Yakov's, peered questioningly at her.
"Him." She nodded at her sleeping friend. Complete understanding of his position colored him an even greater hero in her mind. "He took bullets for me, Steve. I need to take care of him."
Beside her, Natasha rolled her eyes, looked at Clint and probably mouthed, another one?
Clint's eyes crinkled merrily.
Emily glowered at them both, much to their amusement.
"Party at our place." Tony announced. "As soon as Fortune takes a shower. I know what the smell is like after a few weeks without one. And I'm not hugging you until you remedy that. Coulson, mind if I ride with you? Ten plus hours trapped in a small box with that won't be pretty."
Petrovich's friends did indeed try to stop them from leaving Russian airspace with Emily alive, but after mentioning his death and that the dozen fighter jets were severely outgunned by the three quinjets and their occupants, including Iron Man, they decided to let them go without a fight.
Emily had briefed them on her time with Petrovich, pausing a few times to soothe Natasha's nerves with a touch or kiss, then eventually her body weight by sitting in Natasha's lap. She'd explained that though Yakov was one of Petrovich's henchmen, had even been willing to kill her at first, he'd become the only source of kindness and compassion to her.
He didn't report that Emily was exercising in her cell. He brought her a flashlight for when the poorly wired electricity would go out. When Petrovich started using him as a practice dummy, she finally understood that Yakov was terrified that Petrovich would murder his little brother and cousins if he didn't obey. His tongue had been a warning. After sessions, he would pat Emily, his eyes full of forgiveness.
Natasha looked at the man strapped to the med table, IV of saline snaking down from the hanger to his left arm. It was his second of the day. Whether he'd taken the bullets on purpose or accident, she owed the man. She would give him the benefit of the doubt. He already had her good opinion for leading them to Emily's cell and stoically accepting Natasha's gun in his face, obviously ready to die for his sins. Her interrogation of him would be gentle.
"We've entered South Korean airspace." Clint announced from the pilot's seat.
Emily had a date with Cho-tech. The cradle. Not Yakov. He only needed time and more blood. Tony was a blood-type match, had donated a pint that had dramatically improved the color in Yakov's cheeks. Amazing what a little blood could do.
Slowly, curiously, Emily drew a line across her father's stomach. Not deep, not even through all the layers of skin. Only enough to watch a line of blood rise and pool along his defined muscles. He squirmed and whimpered. More when she made it seal.
She cut again, this time in his thigh, where she could cut deeper without hitting organs or vital arteries. Under the music of his howls, she pulled the flesh apart, told it to seal itself, watched fascinated as scabs formed, then scar tissue. A few dabs of diluted acid dissolved the scar tissue. Blood oozed forth until she rinsed it with some water and had the wound knit itself together.
Under the yellow light she'd rigged overhead, the leg looked good as new. Even his body thought it hadn't been injured. Neat.
There'd been no such pleasure using Yakov like that. Whatever his past, he'd been good to Emily, and she wasn't the same angry monster who'd delighted in torturing her own father. Yakov deserved better. She withdrew a promise from Bobbi to keep him safe while the Avengers made their invited way into the extensive bio-labs of Dr. Helen Cho. That Sam decided to stay with Yakov too made her feel even better.
"Emily Fortune." Cho stood with arms crossed in front of them. This wasn't exactly the welcome that Natasha had imagined. Hadn't Cho decided to work with SHIELD because of Emily's work with Bruce?
"Dr. Cho." Emily made a slight bow of respect in the Korean way.
"I was very disappointed when I learned that Dr. Banner's nice assistant was actually a SHIELD spy. More disappointed when I learned that spy had a healing gift that makes my cradle look like child's toy."
Ill at ease, Emily shifted. Around them the rest of the team did too, not certain how to respond. Bruce was particularly uncomfortable. Tony must be exceptionally tired, because his mouth wasn't moving.
"Why did Director Fury want my technology when he had you?"
Emily snorted. "I can't be everywhere." Her expression hardened. "Or my friends wouldn't have had to spend the last month looking for me."
Cho hummed. "Yes, which is why you have come here, to see if that time did any lasting damage to your body. It is only because Dr. Banner told me you refused to steal my technology for Fury that I welcome you back here."
Carefully not smiling, Natasha kept her instant liking to this strong-willed woman to herself.
"Fair enough," came Emily's tired reply. "I'm sorry about the deceit. I'm not a fan of the spy life."
Cho's dark eyes flicked to Natasha. "Yet your lover and friends are all spies."
"Heroes." Emily argued.
"I'm going to back Emily on that choice of words." Tony finally took attention for himself. "Because come on, me? Cloak and dagger?"
"Yes, Mr. Stark. You are quite loud with who and what you are." Dr. Cho gave him a slow, unimpressed up-and-down.
Bucky started chuckling. "I see why you like this dame, Bruce. She's a real dish. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Cho." He grinned flirtatiously, probably more to prod Bruce than to get a date.
Cho's cheeks lit up.
Emily joined his amusement. "Doesn't take an ounce of shit from anyone."
"Not even this chucklehead." Steve elbowed Tony.
Expectedly, the boys fell into dickering and trading insults.
"Men," exasperation huffed. Cho's eyes rolled then snapped back to Emily. Arms loosened and fell to her sides. "Come, Emily Fortune. I promised use of the cradle for you."
Which took twenty minutes for scan and discussion of results. Em was fine. She'd suffered little more than some mold spore inhalation and malnutrition. Her brain was functioning well. The memory blocks remaining weren't something the cradle could help with.
Emily made a joke about how at least she wasn't the only healer who had trouble with brains. Before Cho could start questioning and probing Emily, Natasha announced that with Em's clean bill of health should come rest. Hospitality became Dr. Cho's new focus, and she apologized that her facility couldn't accommodate so many. She recommended a nearby hotel.
"I don't know about the rest of you," Tony put in, "But I've got a wife and a king-sized bed that I'd prefer to sleep with as soon as possible."
Home.
Where there were windows and the room smelled of perfume both her own and Natasha's. And she could poop in an actual toilet instead of over a fucking bucket. Then wipe her ass and wash her hands. Take a shower. Spend an evening reading with Natasha. Watch the sun set. Not have to hear Yakov scream while Sergei used a blow torch on him. Yes. So much yes!
A/N - I know, I could've spent like 5 chapters easing Em back into memories, but I got places to be and people to make bleed...
Anon: Deadpool in any fandom is hilarious, but him showing up to help his weed guy was seriously tempting to write. LMAO
Sobbing anon: there there. *pats awkwardly* More horrible stuff coming; save some of those tears.