I apologize, it took me so long to update, but I started University, and I don't have as much time. I'll try to have the next one up soon. Please leave your thoughts and opinions!
Running through a dirty street with a gun clenched tightly in one hand, her other on her stomach. She felt heavy, off-kilter, but she ran as fast as she could, fleeing from someone. She was already breathless, even though she knew she hadn't been running that long. She was panting and her lower back ached so, so much, with every hard step to the pavement she felt it shoot up her spine and she clenched her teeth and held her midsection tighter and ran faster.
Оставайся здесь
She had flirted with the guy for most of the night, and had slipped the powder into his drink just a few minutes before he asked her if she wanted to join him in his hotel room. She gave him a coy look and lowered her voice to that sexy throaty tone she knew drove men wild, and said she couldn't wait. He'd taken her against a wall in the hallway of the offices, and she'd moaned and clawed at his back theatrically and used every trick to get him off fast. Afterwards, still high from his orgasm and what she'd slipped into his drink, he answered all her questions, given her all the passwords while sprawled out on the floor groaning in pain at his headache, soaked in sweat but not just from their activities, complaining about the pain and cooperating less and less. She was still half-naked, panties somewhere on the floor and dress pushed down bearing her breasts, and she'd straddled his chest and leaned forward so her breasts and her scent surrounded him. He answered the rest of her questions pretty quickly after that, dazed from the drug and her. She stood up and redressed herself as Yasha appeared from the shadows, pulling the man to his feet and walking him -dragging him- to the guarded door. He helped them gain access and Yasha snapped his neck, viciously, his right arm bulging and his left whirring with the force he used, pure anger rolling off of him and the guy's head was almost ripped from his body completely, the loud crack and squish grotesque and the loud thump of his body hitting the floor was more than she'd expected, and she stared at Yasha with and arched eyebrow. He looked up at her and his eyes were filled with rage for another moment before he looked down at the mess he'd made and looked back up at her with a bit of shame at his outburst.
Нет пожалуйста
He was holding her again, tighter this time, and she was crying, sobbing. Begging.
Пожалуйста
He glanced at her behind him and made sure she was following his rapid pace and they continued down the busy market street, her hand held tightly in his as they tried to get lost in the swarm of people.
Больше!
She showed a perfectly passive face, but oh, she wanted to slap him.
Больше!
She panted, clenching her fists and launching herself at him again. He had her in a head lock in 12 seconds. She was mad. She nearly growled as she attacked him again. She ended up on her back. She was back on her feet in a split second, stance ready to continue, but he just huffed and turned away. She seethed in anger. She knew her worth, knew she was better than all the other girls, that she impressed Madam day in and day out, that she was sent on more missions than anyone, that she was the best, the Black Widow, and he just huffed and turned away from her?
She growled and launched herself at him, a punch this time, but he turned around and caught her fist, and she went with her other fist while simultaneously aiming a kick for his knees, but he caught that fist with his gloved hand before swinging her feet out from under her and she landed hard on her side, a groan of surprise leaving her. He looked down at her one more time before simply walking away. She hated him.
She could barely open her eyes, she was exhausted, weary down to her bones, and cold, freezing cold, the hard concrete under her unforgiving and she was shivering, her hair and shirt still a bit damp from the latest bout of attempted drowning. She was hungry, her gut twisting, her hands clammy and she wanted to sleep so bad, just a little, please, but every sound and step outside made her jump, startle and tremble. She dreaded their return. She knew this is what was going to be waiting for her the moment they decided to flee. She knew then too, that they wouldn't kill her. She was too valuable. She'd expected this, being tortured to the brink of insanity, before being wiped. And so she committed her every conscious second to remembering, and focused on not forgetting. There was one consolation through it all. 1018465195. They hadn't found out.
Это глупо. He ignored her and told her to stand a little more to the left. это опасно. She insisted. He did too: Нет, если ваше лицо не показывает. She rolled her eyes and complied, but almost changed her mind when he said it'd look better if she pulled her hair up. She gave him an exasperated look, but he returned it with pale, yet bright blue eyes and she gave in, pulling her long curls up and once again standing where he told her to. She still thought it was silly, if not downright careless on their part, and useless, but she indulged him, as much as herself, sighing at her dark thoughts and she brought her hands down to caress her belly. He snapped the picture.
He was strapped to that fucking chair again, screaming through clenched teeth and the mouth guard, and she was limp in the handler's arms, watching powerlessly. Everything shifted again, making her dizzy. They hung her tied wrists from a hook in the ceiling in front of him and soaked her with ice cold water and she screamed loudly and helplessly when they used the electric baton again on the bared skin of her stomach, her stomach, that was perfectly lean and hard muscle and tight skin, and no sign of any change whatsoever. Their fucked up serum was good for something at least. She tried to double over in pain as she shrieked but her toes could barely touch the ground.
Посмотри, что ты наделал! One of the handlers was yelling at Yasha as he whipped her with a metal wire until stripes of blood were covering her back. Yasha screeched, struggling against his restrains and cried as he watched her scream.
She woke up half off the bed, disconcerted and cold. She was on her stomach, her right arm and leg were hanging off the bed uncomfortably and she was an inch away from falling off. She sat up quickly, arms scrambling to push her up on the mattress until she was upright on her knees and she looked around the darkened room startled. Never in her life had she woken up on her stomach. Never. It was the most vulnerable position anyone could ever be in, especially asleep, and she'd never felt safe enough in her life to let go like that in sleep. Her back ached with phantom pains, sharp pains she knew weren't there anymore, not even a scar from the whipping. That was probably why she'd woken up in such a strange position. Probably how she'd slept in her cell afterwards. She sighed, calming herself down, breathing in and out slowly. She was so tired, so tired of this. She was grateful that she was remembering more and more, but she'd had probably one good night's sleep since she woke up all those months ago. She was exhausted.
Wearily, she lay back down, her back to the mattress this time. She was covered in sweat again, and thought about getting up and changing the sheets, for the third time this week. But she couldn't really be bothered. She was too tired.
As per usual, she went through her dreams - nay, her memories- , analyzing them. She'd put so many pieces together already. She hadn't liked him very much at first, but then, something had changed. He was so sweet, trying. Gentle. She'd been so hardheaded, and cold, brainwashed, like him. But somehow, together they found out they were people, not just weapons to be used and discarded.
She felt herself choke up, a knot in her throat forming, but she gritted her teeth and pushed it down. She was sick and tired of crying. And she remembered him holding her, and he cried too, and they reassured each other that it was all right, they were allowed. It was human. They were human. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself, she could cry.
Given the circumstances, it was pretty hard not to. Every single day she woke up with terrifying images behind her eyes, mixed with sweet moments but no context, of smiles and warm embraces, and then worrying tears because something terrible happened, something that makes her heart ache like an open wound, but she can't remember what! Can't remember what is it that they both were so heartbroken over, and she tries and tries to remember but it just feels like it slips through her fingers. Then again, she can feel it, can feel it in her veins, powerful and constant, in her body, in her heart, but she closes her eyes and shakes her head. It's not possible, it must be something else, it can't be. The Red Room made sure of it. She won't think that, she won't believe in something impossible. It wasn't, it wasn't possible, it must be something else.
She needed to find him, find out who he was, what happened to him, if he was still alive… If he hadn't been killed because of her, of them. God! What had she been thinking! She couldn't believe she'd been that stupid, did she really think they wouldn't get caught!? They must have killed him, if not for his own treachery, then just because he meant so much to her.
The Red Room always made sure the girls understood that feelings were a weakness, something that could get you killed, a nuisance at best, a weapon against you at worst. The trainers were ruthless and cruel, Madam was the most sadistic woman she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting, and the girls saw each other as simple opponents, in the way of their own grandeur, just someone else they would kill on the mat soon. So there was no warmth in the Red Room, no one knew what it meant and no one cared to know either. Yasha was like that, at the beginning. She hadn't figured out yet what had changed.
Or what had possessed her to even remotely care about him, or him her, she wasn't exactly a nice person, you didn't get into Madam's good-girl-book by being nice!
She really couldn't figure it out, really couldn't make any sense of it.
But oh, oh she could feel his arms around her, so warm and strong, a comfort in a world of pain, and his voice, firm but gentle and teasing sometimes with jokes that made her giggle like those girls in the films they made them watch. She could still feel how much he loved her, and she curled up on her side and cried, because she fucking missed someone she couldn't even remember. So really, she did understand.
There was more though, a stronger love, such an intense feeling between them that her heart clenched with it, a craving. Her arms suddenly felt empty and she wailed into her pillow, clenching her hands around it because they wanted to hold something and it wasn't there anymore and she cried harder, hiccupping sobs into the pillow that were never-ending because her fucking soul felt hollow, a piece missing, and fuck! She would not believe it, she wouldn't! She really didn't think she could survive it if she allowed herself to.
She hugged the pillow tight and for a mere second let herself imagine it, let out another sob but let herself go there in her head. She breathed in sharply and startled when an image flashed in her mind, she saw him, them, on a bed, she had her hands in his hair brushing gently while he lay his head near her stomach, humming softly.
She snapped her eyes open and stared at the empty space besides her for a moment. Oh my God, that was the first time she saw a memory while being awake! She saw him! Well, the top of his head, but still, it was clear, a whole clear image, and his hair was dark, almost pitch black, and a bit on the long side. She'd seen something while awake! A real memory, while wide awake. She was stunned. This was huge, she still wasn't sure how she'd managed to break their programming, but the walls were crumbling more and more, and it both scared and elated her.
And cue the headache, she thought solemnly as she pushed her finger against her temples, trying to ease some of the throbbing slowly gathering there, always present when she went around and around in her head. She knew it wasn't a normal headache, it was a deep ache, brought on by her looking too far. Well, maybe for today, she'll give it a rest.
She got out of bed and into the shower and proceeded to take as much time as she damn well pleased, with hot water too, until her fingers were wrinkled and she shampooed and rinsed her hair twice, then massaged her scalp while conditioning and took her time, all while in a warm cocoon of steam and running hot water with prefect pressure. It helped her relax, unwind some of the tense muscles in her back, and escape her own head for a while, making the ache dissipate. She felt her muscles unwind and her body relax and she smiled, because she loved this. In moments like this, she felt truly free.
Clint is standing right beside her, arms crossed and brushing against her own, and she's never felt more comfortable with someone so close to her personal space, save for Yasha. He makes her feel safe.
And in a room full of strangers that she's supposed to be trusting now, he's her touchstone. She can't remember ever feeling so out of sorts, but she's never had her own mind and made her own decision either. It's also the first time she's seen so many people involved in a mission. There are two tacticians and Clint and herself. There's also this guy Coulson, managing everything even from far away. In the Red Room, you are completely alone, you are given your objective and that's all, no back up or a chance to call for help, you better get it done and come back in one piece, or they'll break you into a thousand little pieces themselves.
An agent is infiltrating a medical compound dealing with mental disorders. He has another agent with him not far, undercover as well. Backup. There's also a van standing by to pick them up with the target. Well, quite honestly, the reason there are so many people involved is her. They wouldn't really need the on-base support if she could just leave the grounds and be on the van herself. Or really, if she could go do it herself.
So here they are, everyone with a head piece listening in except herself, too dangerous if the good doctor has been cautious and scattered triggers around himself. She's looking at the screens transmitting from the agent's hidden camera in his glasses, showing them every step of the way. She's the only one that could have done this mission, she knows the compound, knows the codes around and the hidden passage and how to get to in undetected, how to get to the doctor's hidden files, and how to get the doctor himself. And although she prepared the agent as much as possible before he left, it's still tricky, and the doctor is smart, so she's still guiding him through it. She's talking to Clint, and Clint is talking back to the agent, while Coulson is watching her intensely, not only to watch make sure nothing starts triggering her on the screens, but she's sure he's also analyzing her to death. Everyone is.
They don't trust her, she knows that, wasn't really expecting them to, but it's still uncomfortable, being scrutinized by absolutely everyone who even sees her walk by. She knows she deserves it, knows like they do that she doesn't belong, because the atrocities that she has committed can't just be put aside. But she'll fight to belong, she'll do it, she'll clean her hands of blood and be someone worthy of-. Well, she can't really remember why that was so important. But she knows it is, and with Yasha, she'd learned to follow her instinct.
If she can't earn their trust, she'll at least show them why they kept her around. She knows they need her. But Clint trusts her, as does Fury, and really, that's already so much more than she deserves.
The mission's going well so far, he's past two check points, and one of the doctor's traps, and still undetected and seen as just another janitor, mopping right and left. She sees a small dot on the door frame to his right, and tells Clint to tell him to step closer to the opposite wall. He does so and goes undetected by the next camera. She guides him to a hall hidden away from prying eyes and towards the doctor's hideout. After that, there's a strange combination of colors in the pictures lining the hall and there's a strange pressure in the back of her skull. She can't feel her legs, the tip of her fingers start to tingle and her breathing slows down. Triggers. She can't look away.
"Agent Barton." The tone in Coulson's voice is calm yet urging so Clint looks away from the screen to see her and one look is enough, he stands directly in front of her and blocks her view. She still feels the pressure, but it couldn't progress past that. "Hey Natasha, look at me, focus on me." He tells her gently and she tries to look up at him but her eyes won't answer her, they just continue to stare at a point in his neck, unmoving.
"Nat." His hands are on her shoulders now, a pressure she uses to ground herself. "Nat, look at me." He bends his head down and looks her straight in the eyes. That pulls her back hard and she sways, but he steadies her with strong arms. "You're all right." She's shivering, little shocks as the hold on her mind and senses recedes and her legs slowly feel the ground underneath her. He holds her tighter, "You're safe."
It takes another second but she finally comes back to herself, and he lets her go so she can find her own ground. He's still looking at her and blocking her view. She can focus completely now and the sounds around her rush back. Clint is watching her worriedly and urgently, and there's no time, an agent is out there walking blind. So she turns around away from the screens and Clint is back on mission mode and tells her what he can see and hear. She tells him to tell the Agent to keep going, and deactivate the sensor on the fire hydrant across from the window with a light blue line on the frame. She waits and when Clint tells her he's done as she said, she continues giving him instructions.
After sidestepping a few more traps he finally reaches the office and the hidden compartment on the floor and removes the box of files. With those secured, they can get the doctor without the danger of him blowing up his office and all its secrets at the first signs of danger. So he follows her instructions back to the gardens of the compound without alerting any of the security the doctor put in place and he hands the box to his back up before he goes for the doctor himself in a patient's room.
The mission is a success and they are on their way back.
The briefing will be in the afternoon shortly before they arrive with the doctor and the men in the room all leave for an early lunch. She walks back to her quarters with grace and confidence and no one thinks otherwise, except Clint, who is following close behind and knows she wants to get behind closed doors as soon as possible.
She opens her door with her thumbprint and allows Clint to come in and close the door behind them. And she just stands there, because her limbs feel like jelly but stiff at the same time, and she has a headache, a deep ache in her temples that radiates to the back of her head. Clint stands behind her, one step away, just close enough so she can feel his support but still giving her space.
She feels rattled in ways she thought she'd never have to feel again, like someone had reached in with cold fingers and swirled her mind around, around and around and she ran to the bathroom and barely got the lid of the toilet open before she puked, her chest and throat burning and she couldn't breathe as she retched and pushed the last bit of breakfast out her body and coughed and heaved and coughed again, heavily and spitting.
"Tasha?" Clint was besides her, his hand on her back rubbing soothingly, and her vision was clearer now, though her stomach was still doing summersaults and her whole body was shaking, but he was pushing her curls out of her face and it was grounding, it felt like a lifeline, his presence. She lay her head against the lid and tried to get her bearings back while he flushed the toilet and got her some water, moving around effortlessly in the cramped bathroom. Favoring vents to actual rooms will give you a skill like that, she thought in a daze.
She drank the water he offered her with small sips, and let him help her up and guide her to bed, where she proceeded to pass out, drained by the fight she withstood against her mind's tendency to revert back to old masters. But she fought it, she was still herself, and that made her smile, triumphant. I'm not going back.
I don't want to go back. A long hall, with closed doors on each side. She stood, disoriented, the sounds muffled, as if she were underwater. The walls were white, and for a moment she thought she was back at the Bolshoi… But wait, no, she was at SHIELD. But here, she'd been here before, but, she'd gone to bed, she was sure of it, Clint, he'd helped her. She tried taking a step forward, but everything tilted, and she clenched her head in pain. 1018465195
He was besides her, brushing her damp curls back, caressing her cheek, brushing her tears away. Natashen'ka. She was crying, she was tired and sore, holding on for dear life, holding that beautiful weight in her arms, looking down and not daring to look anywhere else, sobbing. Мыдолжнысделатьэтосейчас. She cried harder, held on tighter. Я не могу!
Yasha, they're on our tail.
He was proud of how good her English had gotten, even if it was to convey things like this.
What's that? Что к чему?
та песня. He seemed lost for a moment, enjoying her gentle fingers in his hair, and maybe he hadn't noticed he was humming a tune? Я не знаю. He continued to hum, and she frowned a little, wondering what it could be, but enjoyed it, smiling when he kissed her belly.
And what's that? He asked.
She hummed now, and he looked at her curiously. I don't know. She truly didn't, but it seemed nice enough, and she continued to hum the tune she couldn't recall ever hearing.
Well, she likes it.
She did, she thought, as she continued and saw her little eyes drop with sleep as she suckled and fed contently.
She screamed, curling her arms around herself she clenched her eyes shut and refused to fully wake up and screamed. No, no, please God no, no, no, it's not true, it's not true, it's not true! She screamed and her mind wouldn't stop racing, she screamed and screamed and clawed at her own skin, her nails biting into herself and NO! Please please no! She couldn't stop shaking, she trashed on the bed and buried her hands in her hair and pulled, screaming she pulled and willed the images to disappear from her mind because no, please not this, not this!
She choked on her next scream and cried out instead, tears scaping her closed eyelids and she cried out loudly and painfully, dragging her hands down her face roughly and cried out. It was true. And the admission made her scream louder, kicking out and clenching her fists again, digging her nails into her chest and she screamed at the image in her mind, of beautiful eyes sleepy, and she wailed and cried and screamed and Clint was terrified, not daring to reach out to her and frozen on the spot, hearing and watching her and he felt tears choke him and he couldn't even get her name past his lips. He considered calling security, maybe medical to sedate her, but he couldn't fucking move as he watched her fall apart.
The crescent marks she was clawing into her chest were bleeding now, and he snapped into action, jumping to the bed and pulling her hands into his tight grip. "Natasha!" She trashed harder and that's what he'd been afraid of, of making it worse. "Nat!" She pulled roughly to get away from his grip and her eyes were still tightly shut, but he needed her to see him so she'd come to her senses. "NATALIA!" He yelled in her face and she opened her eyes, wide and green and terrified, tear-stricken and wild, but she was still for a moment and that's all he needed. "It's Clint! It's me! You're safe, you're in your room, you're all right! You're safe!" He rambled on, still in her face so she couldn't focus on anything else but him and she'd stopped struggling, she was intent on his eyes and slowly in his words, and she was back, her eyes cleared and she was in the present, but that was somehow worse, because now she was back to reality and remembering whatever she'd dreamed of and she crumbled, her face scrunched up and she wailed, she closed her eyes and let out the most painful cry he'd ever heard anyone make, she cried out and took a breath and cried out again, heartbroken and raw, hot tears rolling down the sides of her face as she threw her head back and she could barely breathe with how much she was trying to let out, cries and sobs and he let go of her hands and she let them fall to her sides and just… cried.
He was shaken to his core, hearing her devastating cries and a million thoughts raced through his head, questions upon questions of what could have set this off, and finally did the only thing he could, he shifted so he could hold her and did so, as tightly as he could, biting his lower lip to stop its quivering as his own tears threatened to spill over at her pain, at the sound of her utterly breaking and sobbing and weeping and if a few of his own tears fell to her hair, well, she'd hardly notice, over her own heart wrenching cries.
Оставайся здесь – Stay here
Нет пожалуйста – No please
Пожалуйста – Please
Больше! – More!
Это глупо – This is silly
это опасно – This is dangerous
Нет, если ваше лицо не показывает – Not if your face doesn't show
Посмотри, что ты наделал! – Look what you've done!
Мы должны сделать это сейчас – We should do this now
Я не могу! – I can't!
Что к чему – What is what?
та песня – That song
Я не знаю – I don't know
