MCU (c) Marvel Studios
It's dangerous to sacrifice it makes your blood run to throw the dice! It's dangerous, it's what you like. It's what you'll die for to live this life! We're going on and we'll never stop, we're going on till our worlds collide! It's dangerous, so dangerous! Dangerous! — Within Temptation
Chaos. Pure undiluted chaos and feel of her blood pounding in her ears as her eyes swiveled about to keep track of her target. The scent of burning gasoline, rubber and metal filled her nostrils, coated the back of her throat and her tongue. Leaning back, narrowly avoiding the knife that was aimed at her throat. She backed up — gravel crunching beneath her foot — her back met his. "You okay?" he asked, ducking and she backed handed with her baton, catching the pipe his opponent used. She heard the man grunt as Steve delivered several rapid jabs to the man's midsection. Even without his shield, Steve was a force to be reckoned with.
He pushed up against her and she rabbit kicked the man she was fighting, before landing in a crouch, the pebbles hot beneath her fingers. Looking up, Sam winged in and delivered a stream of bullets before angling up again and Wanda was working on pulling part of the crumbling building on top of some more terrorists. There was a shuck-tssssss sound and the bazooka round went whizzing towards Sam. "Wanda!" Natasha shouted, and the young woman caught the missile with her red magic, before hurling it back at the man that shot it. "How many are there?" she asked, looking at Steve as he wiped his brow. More men clad in black, shouting in the guttural Arabic.
"I don't know," Steve said. "But they are like ants."
"Cockroaches," she said, kicking a new opponent in the face, smiling sweetly as she did. He muttered a soft yeah before resuming combat. It had been like this for a few weeks, rooting out terrorist cells in Eastern Europe and Central Asia. It was mercenary work, but it paid well and at least they were doing something to help people.
They shouted again; Sam said it meant God is great. She just thought it was annoying. They leveled their guns at her and Steve, she tapped him on the shoulder and they dove for cover as a hail of bullets peppered the space they were moments before. She blinked as the familiar rat-a-tat-tat of the guns. She looked over her makeshift barricade and caught the first enemy she saw. She aimed her stinger and fired. The man dropped like a rock. A roar and she turned to see another man, his face covered with a checkered piece of cloth so only his zealot-bright eyes gleamed. He struck viper-swift and blood blossom across her cheek. "My boyfriend is going to be mad about that," she sighed and kicked him in the groin, before elbowing him in the nose. She wrapped her arm around his throat, grabbed his chin and with a quick practiced jerk, broke his neck.
He crumbled like a sack of potatoes. There was a zzt in her ear and she pressed against the commutations unit. "Nat, I'm going to head in, draw out the leader, put an end to this," Steve said.
"Be careful then, they are putting up an awful lot of fight for a bunch of ruined old buildings."
"Hey, can I ask a question?" it was Sam, she glanced up to see him circling the sky, like the bird of prey he mimicked. "How come he gets to call you Nat, and we don't."
"Because I like him more than you." She said, vaulting over the rubble and charging at the two men tailing Steve. She slid, grabbed their ankles and flipped them as she stood up. She heard Steve laugh through her ear piece. She stomped one man's face and karate chopped another in the throat.
"I'm hurt Nat—"
"Call me that again and I'll cut your tongue out," Natasha growled, pulling a terrorist towards her and slamming her knee in his gut. She saw another running towards her, but he suddenly stopped, wrist and ankle cut in Wanda's crackling red magic. She smiled at him before going back to maiming her current opponent. She gasped when one wrapped his arms around her.
"Whore," he whispered in her ear. "I'll show you what we do to whores in my country."
There was another explosion and she stomped her heel on the man's instep, slugged him in the gut with her elbow — "Natasha you need help?" Sam asked. — and slammed her stinger into his throat, zapping him until he foamed at the mouth.
"No, Sam, I'm fine, keep the windows clear for Steve, he should be inside, Wanda and I got these guys out here." She wiped the blood from her cheek. It wouldn't leave a scar. Wanda came over to her. The field seemed to be clear, the silence only broken by the crackle of flames and the metallic flap of Sam's wings.
"Is that all of them?" Wanda asked, looking around. Natasha did too, biting the corner of her lip. The resistance seemed diminished from a moment ago. It didn't make sense. This entire mission didn't make sense. The hostages they were told about turned out to be dummies. They expected more combatants, but they defeated them.
"Keep your guard up," she said, twirling her batons. "Sam, eyes open. Wanda and I are going towards the building, hopefully Steve got this guy and we can go home."
"You mean to the abandon building we're crashing at? The creepy one."
"It's not that scary," Wanda countered.
"Says the woman that scares the shit out of anyone just by waving her hands and doing some voodoo."
"It's not voodoo."
Natasha headed towards the building, "kids, play nice now," she said giving the building a once over and saw nothing. There was a pop-pop and a sharp pain in her left shoulder. She went to her knees. "Damn it."
"Nat?" it was Steve.
"I'm fine," she said and looked up the black clad figure. "Sam."
"I see him," he said and a moment later he came winging at the man and she heard a scream a heartbeat later. She grimaced, looking at the bullet wound. As bullet wounds went it wasn't bad. She survived worst, Wanda was sending her magical tentacles in to pry the bullet loose and her own enhanced body was already starting to clot. She heard a ripping sound and Wanda had sacrificed part of her shirt to fasten a make-shift bandage.
"That was sloppy," she said, standing up. Another round of gun fire and Wanda conjured shields. "Sam, where are they?" Natasha shouted, looking around and trying to find the source of the gunfire as she holstered her batons and pulled out her pistols.
"Nat, I'm coming out, I have the leader."
"Steve watch your head," she said. She pinpointed one of the terrorists and shot him. Two bullets. Wanda found another, throwing him onto some exposed rebar. The poor girl winced, her own barbarism scaring her. Natasha swung her left arm around, the pain jarring, but years of training in the Red Room made her push through and she shot the bastard between the eyes. She pressed a hand to her shoulder as Steve and the leader came up.
"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes fixed to her wound. His captive struggled, he gave him a fierce jerk. "We got him, let's get going." He looked at the sky. "Sam?"
"All clear, as far as I can tell." He winged into view, circling before landing, his wings folding into his suit. "Mission accomplished." In the distance a truck exploded. Steve nodded.
"Yeah. Let's get this guy to the authorities and collect the money." He looked at Wanda. "Wanda?"
"Of course," she said and wove her magic around his head, putting him into a hellish nightmare as Steve zip-tied his wrists and ankles. Natasha watched as Steve hoisted the unconscious man like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. He led the team out, but Natasha stayed put, eyeing the building.
"Where did you find him?" she asked, causing him to stop and turn.
"Nat, we're done; let's get going," he said. Something didn't sit well with her. This was a little too easy. Only one man with a bazooka, no bombs and they weren't even enhanced humans. All her training as a spy told her something was not right, that there was more to this story. Something beneath the building.
"I'm going in for more information," she said, walking towards the building. It was a towering rickety looking thing, broken concrete and spacious.
"Nat, you're hurt, let's get out of here."
"No." She turned to face him, the wind whipping his blond hair. "This doesn't feel right, Steve. There is more going on. Even by our standards this was too easy. Straw dummies, no hostages? No enhanced humans? Doesn't this feel odd?"
He was silent, hand on his hip. "It does."
"So, I'm going to—"
"No." His voice was steel. "No, you're not." She rolled her eyes and began to walk towards the building. "Natasha!" She stopped. "I said no. It's an order. You are not to go in and look around."
"Since when" — she turned around — "did you give me orders?" she asked, hating the fact that he could be stubborn. She was also stubborn, and while they have butted heads a few times, Steve would either show the logic of his case or he would cede to her logic. In rare cases Sam would defuse the situation with a witty quip about the situation and their staring contest would end.
"Natasha, we stick together as a team. We complete missions as a team. We survive as a team. We are done here, I will not risk you or any member of this team because you want to poke around."
"Good thing I'm risking myself, I'll be back in five." She resumed heading towards the building, ignoring Steve's growl.
"Natasha!"
"I'll be fine, soldier, get the kids home. I'll be back shortly."
"I'll come back for you, once I drop this guy off, you better be done by then," he said, and she smirked.
"I will." She hopped over a chunk of building and wove her way through the rubble and down into the building's basement.
It was cool in the basement, the lights flickering, she inched her way along the corridors, pistol in hand, guiding her around every corner. Besides the electrical sputtering of the lights, she also heard water dripping. She walked down a corridor that had a green-beige tinge, voices caught her attention and she headed towards a door with safety glass. Shiny fearful faces peered back at her. She pressed a finger to her ear piece. "Steve, I found the hostages," she said. "Steve?" Silence. "Steve, do you hear me?" A crackle and nothing. "Damn." She tried the handle.
Locked.
She waved her hand away from her, the nearest hostage backing up. She shot the door, and then kicked it. The sound of her gun and the door bursting open echoed down the hall. "Go, go," she said, entering in and ushering the hostages out of the room. She glanced around, making sure no terrorist heard her. "Steve?" she hissed, but still no answer. She followed the hostages out and reached the stairs with them when she heard the surprised cries of men, shouting at her in Arabic. "Go, go!" she shouted as the hostages, pausing at the bottom step to face her enemies.
"Nat!" She turned and saw Steve coming from the top of the stairs.
"Get them to safety, I'll hold them off," she said. He looked torn for a moment, and she gave him a smile. "I promise."
"I'll come back," he said, and went with the hostages. The terrorists came. She shot them, grunting when a bullet ricocheted off the floor and through the meat of her calf. She grunted as another thudded into her vest, knowing a bruise would form tomorrow. She shifted her weight to her right foot, she would hold out long enough for Steve to get here. She glanced over her shoulder, fired a few rounds, dropping a few more men, before deciding to risk it and charge up the stairs. Someone shouted behind her, but all she focused on now was getting clear of the building and to Steve.
She saw Steve running towards her. She would be safe soon and they can go back to the creepy abandon house they found. Get her leg looked at and patched up, take a breather for a few days to let their injuries heal. Maybe think about getting down to Wakanda to see if they had made any progress on Bucky. It would be nice having him on the team.
The ground shook and erupted in fire and rubble, throwing her back towards the building that began to crumble down. She landed on her bad shoulder, screaming in pain and her head met a slab of concrete. The building thundered around her, preventing anyone from gaining access to her. The last thing she heard before going unconscious was Steve screaming her name.
The only source of light in the abandon house in the Armenian countryside was an old kerosene lantern; wolves howled somewhere off in the distance, crickets along with frogs chirped and croaked a nocturnal symphony. Yet, despite the warm summer and the sweet scent of the night that billowed about the room, the three occupants didn't speak. They ate their gruel in silence. Wanda had some paprika, adding it in an effort to add flavor. Nobody said if it worked or not. A moth or two fluttered around the lantern, memorized by the brilliant source of light. Sam shooed them away.
Steve sat on the porch, watching the last rays of the sun set; the western horizon a brilliant blood red that faded into a deep purple before going ink black, stars twinkling overhead and the soft glow of city lights on the southwest horizon. A bird sang the last mournful song of the day and somewhere an owl gave a questioning hoot.
None of that mattered. Why should he admire beauty when all around him was so much death? Hell, he couldn't even get drunk to numb the pain, no matter how much he drank. It frustrated him when he lost Bucky and it frustrated him now. He watched the explosion, watched her fly through the air, the building fall on top of her. He scrambled through the rubble, hoping against hope, praying to God to spare her. Not Natasha, not Natasha. He needed her. His hands shook as he dug, eyes stinging from dust or tears he didn't know nor did he care. All he could think about was getting her out of the rubble and to safety, making sure she was alive.
The building had shook again, more rubble cascading down and he was forced to fall back or risk getting hurt. If only he had taken Wanda, she could have moved the pile of rubble. He gasped, putting his head in his hands. It was Bucky all over again. He almost had his friend, saw the fear in Bucky's eyes. If only he had leaned out a little bit more, he would have been able to grab Bucky and he wouldn't have been brainwashed into an assassin. Maybe Bucky would have lived a normal life while he was trapped in the ice. Yet he didn't. He had failed Bucky back then and now failed Natasha too.
He should have told her to leave when she found him. Told her to go back to Tony and explain that she found him dead, mad, she would've had made up something. If only he had insisted on keeping her at a further distance, but he had been so happy, so relieved when she showed up. She had come for him, because he asked her. His choices hadn't cost him her friendship. Only in the long run they had. She was gone, just like Peggy. He looked up when Sam came out. The other man sat down and offered him the bowl of gruel.
"Here," he said, "eat."
Steve took it, looked at the watery oatmeal with chunks of what he guessed was chicken and set it aside. "I'm not hungry," he said. Night had settled in; the frogs had stopped croaking, but the crickets kept at it and the other bugs joined them with a steady droning buzz. "I should've… been faster. I should have told her no. Dragged her away."
"Hey, man." Sam squeezed his shoulder. "She saved those people. We were ready to give up on them, but she went and found them. She did good. She did good."
"But it got her killed!" he said, looking at his friend. "She's dead, Sam."
"You don't know that, I mean… look at Bucky! He's alive. He survived and Natasha… she's a super spy. I bet she'll come limping over that horizon tomorrow and say something like did we miss her."
"I saw the building fall on her. The serum they gave her is not a complete version, not like mine. Mine was perfect. Her's, Bucky's, those are altered versions." He rubbed his forehead. "I could probably survive it, if I had my shield." He hung his head; he had to abandon it because Tony felt that it rightfully belonged to him because his father made it. Steve didn't protest then because he was so sick of fighting friends that he just dropped it and walked off, more concern about Bucky than Tony's sense of pride.
Yes, he sympathized with Tony.
Yes, he was shocked and angry that Bucky had committed such a horrible crime, but when he asked Bucky if he regretted doing it, regretted the kills he made; Bucky had said yes and there was an honesty in his eyes that Steve could not deny.
So, he had abandoned his shield to its maker's prodigal son; who was more than happy to make the condescending quip or two. Days like today, he regretted doing so because he could have saved Natasha. "Maybe you should get some sleep," Sam whispered. Steve shook his head.
"No. You and Wanda sleep. I'll keep watch."
"Steve—"
"I won't be sleeping Sam," he said. "I don't want dreams tonight." Sometimes his dreams were worse than the reality he lived in.
Natasha groaned. Her… well everything hurt. Her head, her shoulder, her side, her leg. She felt like a giant ball of hurt. It brought back memories of her childhood. She always went to bed aching from the rigorous training the Red Room put her through, especially after they injected the serum into her. Pain was nothing new to her though, it gave her a sharper focus. She shook her head and squinted against the suddenly bright light. "Well, well, well," a voice drawled. "I see you managed to free the hostages and capture my lieutenant."
"Ah. Thought I recognized you," Natasha said, giving him a shit-eating smile, "Aleksey Volkov Zima. How've you been?"
"Natalia Alianovna Romanova." He gave her a sharkish grin. "Changed your hair."
"And you didn't change your attitude." She rolled her shoulders, testing her bonds. They were nylon cords, complex knots bound her to the chair by her wrists and ankles. The chair was metal, she wouldn't be able to easily smash it. "Since when did you work with Islamic terrorists?"
"Since they will work for money and you point at a thing and say: there are infidels." Zima shrugged. "I did not see the Man of Iron or the god."
She blinked, watching him pace around, his muscles bulging. He was just a normal human, buff, but not enhanced by science or some strange genetic fluke. He cracked his knuckles. "What about them?"
"I thought you worked with them?" he pulled a chair over and straddled it backwards, leaning on the backrest. She smiled, working the knot at her feet. She had to keep his attention on her face, so he wouldn't realize she was working on getting free. Zima was a dangerous man, but even dangerous men were red-blooded… for the right woman. Zima had always liked to get a bit too handsy with her when she was still an agent of the KGB.
"Not all the time," she said, giving a little shrug. She leaned forward, wishing she wasn't wearing her vest, it blocked her cleavage and Zima loved her cleavage. "What do you want Zima?"
"Why do you think I want anything Natalia?" he gave a shrug. "Can't two comrades have a chat, catch up."
She gave him a brittle smile. "Been a long time since I been a comrade."
"He misses you," Zima whispered, his eyes darkled when she stiffened. "You know."
"Don't see how a dead man can miss someone," she quipped.
The light overhead flickered and a few sparks coughed forth before everything dimmed and then brightened. "Is that what they told you? That he was dead." She remained silent, realizing that Zima was baiting her with a man she had long forgotten. It wouldn't work, and he realized that, shrugging in annoyance. "You freed the daughter of the President's best friend," he said. "Among other hostages. But the usual was extortion of the government."
"Oh." She took a deep breath to mask the fact her shoulders rose up as she worked a stiletto free. "I don't see why you'd want her or me for that matter."
"There's a reward on your head." Zima pulled a big black steel knife out and pressed the tip beneath her chin. "Six hundred million roubles for your pretty head." He reached out and pinched some of her hair between his thumb and index finger. "Wonder what he'll say when I cut off your head."
Zima was starting to get on her nerves. She pulled her head away, narrowing her eyes. "Wow, that much huh," she said, "I always expected I'd be worth more."
"Do you know what a man could do with that type of money?" Zima asked, twisting the knife a little bit. Natasha hissed as it dug into her skin, a drop of blood oozing along it's razor sharp edge.
"Why don't…" she swallowed, "you enlighten me." The stiletto slipped free and almost fell but she caught it, balanced on the pad of her right middle finger. She curled it around her fist, slipping the thin blade into the knot. Zima snorted, pulling his knife away. She still couldn't believe that Zima tied her to a chair. He knew her skill set, knew what she was capable of. She stopped cutting the rope. There was something amiss, something he wasn't telling her. That feeling of unease returned, creeping into the base of her spine. He was after something and it wasn't her.
Sam wasn't anything special. He had robotic wings and could fly. Brilliant for aerial surveillance but something a man like Zima wouldn't spend his time laying a plan out for. If it was her, he would have broken her fingers and bound her with chains and drugged her to keep her complainant. She was fully conscious and bound with nylon rope. That left Wanda and Steve.
Wanda had telekinetic powers as well as telepathy and the ability to induce fears into her enemies. She was freakish and scary, the perfect subject for human experimentation among parties of questionable morality. But something told Natasha that Zima or whomever Zima was working for would have crafted an all-together different plan to capture the infamous Scarlet Witch. That left—
Steve. Natasha's eyes grew wide. She was bait for Steve, and knowing Steve, if he thought there was a chance she could be alive, he was stubborn enough to take it and risk capture to save her. He did that with Bucky, there was no doubt he would do it with her. If the KGB got their hands on Steve, they could potentially unlock the secrets of the serum and create their own super soldiers.
Russia may no longer be the Soviet Union, and the KGB may have been technically broken into two groups and was no longer the feared police of the Soviet Union. But men like Zima and organizations like the KGB never died. They just metamorphized into something different, but their goals are the same. Steve was in trouble and there was no way to send him a message. The need for escape became more urgent, she began to saw frantically at the knot with her stiletto. She glowered at Zima and spat in his face. "Gotta do better than that if you want me to talk. Bounty on my head? Dead ex-husband? Losing your touch Zima, tsk tsk, being out here has made you soft."
"Suka!" he slapped her, hard, cutting her cheek on her teeth. She swallowed the blood and glared at him. She was almost through the knot. "Where is he?" Zima growled, grabbing her face, pinching her cheeks. "You know who I want. The super soldier. Where is he?"
Natasha glared at him. He would have to kill her before she told him where Steve was. She would never betray Steve. He was her friend, he believed in her goodness when most of the world would dismiss her as either a monster or a spy true to her nature. She cared about him and would protect him, because she—
The knot came free, she flipped her hands around and stabbed her stiletto into Zima's eye. The man bellowed like a wounded bear, raking a meaty hand towards. She leaned back, the chair toppling over and she produced another stiletto and sawed at the rope at her feet. They came free and she grimaced when she remembered her injured leg. Zima yanked the stiletto out of his eye; it made a wet sucking sound. "Gryaznaya suka!" he dove for her and she rolled out of the way, slamming the other stiletto into his bicep. He snarled, grabbing for her but she crawled over to her weapons. She yelped when grabbed her ankle. She twisted, kicking him in his wounded eye. He yowled, letting go of her. She grabbed one of her stingers and a baton.
He leapt at her again, she grunted when he landed on top of her. Grunting and crying out in rage and pain, she beat him with her baton and jammed her stinger against his throat. The electricity jerked through him, stunning him. Natasha pushed him off her and shakily stood. She grabbed her gun and shot him in the forehead. He jerked, dead, she glared and put a few more bullets into his chest, clustering them around his heart. For good measure. If Steve burst through the door, she'd say he twitched. "Uvidimsya, chert poberi, ublyudok." She holstered her gun and slumped against the desk, panting. The camera was on and if Zima had people they would be rushing here to help their boss.
Groaning, she gathered her effects and stumbled through the door. If things were different, she would have insisted on a nice warm bubble bath when she got home, and some vodka and maybe Steve giving her a nice back rub. She smirked at the last thought and limped down the hall.
Steve saw Natasha stumble up the hill, holding onto her side, dried blood on her throat and face, a few minor burns and cuts on her arms and legs and two bullet wounds. He ran towards her, catching her in his arms before she fell. She was smiling though, her eyes wet with tears. He shook his head, holding his own emotions in check. He was coming to look for her, he was going to give it one more shot before he gave up on her. "Nat," he said, he would not break, but he felt he was slowly losing that war. "Y-You're alive."
"You came for me," she laughed, "you didn't have to. I said I'd be back." She pressed her face into his shoulder. "Just a bit late."
He lost the war, shaking his head, he scooped her up and held her close. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked, smiling. She laughed, only to groan and pat his cheek.
"You'll think of something, soldier. You always do."
He held her a bit closer. "Let's get you home," he said. She smiled at him, tugging him down a little bit closer. She pressed her lips against his, it was sweet and chaste, but he returned it just as sweetly.
"I already am."
So this was a tricky chapter. I originally wanted to do a flashback/dream chapter for them where they talk about their pasts and fears, but it didn't feel right. I have like three pages of it started but it didn't resonate with the emotional ambiance of the last two chapters. I'm not sure if this one does either (maybe at the end and middle) but I like it. It felt right. Like this is the next step. This is what they do for a while, until Vision joins them.
Zima is just some scary Russian guy I made up. And a bit about Russian names (my brother speaks Russian, he majored in it), the "middle" name is a patronym, meaning that it denotes the father (or admired mentor/adopted father) of the person and it's MANDITORY by LAW for Russians to have a given name, a patronym and a family name. So that being said, Nat's "middle" name in Russian is Alianovna (ovna denotes -daughter of), so according to Russian naming customs her father's name is Alian. Draw your own conclusions.
And one last thing, critiques. Please leave them. I'll tell you how to do them. A) give an analysis of the work, the best way to do this is to pretend you're summarizing the chapter to someone else. This helps me know what's working in the chapter. B) Criticism. Here you can tell me what's wrong with it. B) Suggestions. Here you can tell me how to fix what was wrong or improve on it or where you'd like to see future chapters go.
I'm a creative writing major so… I'm used to this and I'm always willing to improve my work. Believe me, my Assassin's Creed Unity fic has had the same ten chapters redone for a year and a half.
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Nemo et Nihil
PS: yes they finally kissed :3