"ETA is approximately 15 minutes, sir."
Phil looks up and nods to acknowledge the information. "Thank you, Jansen," he says before he turns to look at the young woman strapped into the seat across from him. She's heavily sedated and restrained with some prototype SHIELD cuffs that offer a bit more strength and complexity than a typical handcuff (at least, that's what the guys from R&D said). He had objected and argued against both measures - she had been cooperative with everything they had asked since defecting and had not shown any ounce of a threat to anyone she interacted with, not to mention she was still sporting the aftereffects of her latest deprogramming session - but had been overruled. Director Fury hadn't wanted to take any chances with the Black Widow.
Phil glances down at the opened folder in his lap again, scanning the details of her latest (and hopefully final) deprogramming session. The doctors had reported after their first assessment that it looked like she had managed to break through several barriers on her own, which was likely what had led to her being able to accept Barton's offer in the first place. Their reports following their subsequent sessions reported steady progress in removing the triggers and conditioning blocks, and after this latest session they reported their opinion that nearly all of it had been removed.
He'd attended some of her sessions and truth be told he'd felt a little sick to his stomach watching her go through it. It was a painful process for her, to say the least. Excruciating, he corrects himself silently. After the third session, which had been particularly difficult and painful for her according to the doctors, he'd visited her in her room. She had been a bit dazed, he remembered, and when he'd offered to sit with her, she hadn't refused like she usually did. For Natasha, that lack of reply had said a hell of a whole lot, so he'd sat on a chair next to her bed, working on his paperwork as she had worked through her recovery from the session. Neither of them had said a word and they hadn't ever spoken about it, but he is certain that a bond of trust between them was forged that day.
Movement catches his eye then and he looks up to find Natasha gazing at him with clouded eyes, clearly fighting against the sedative's hold. I guess the doc's estimate of a dosage wasn't quite enough, he thinks wryly.
"Hi," he says, flashing a smile at her. "Sorry about those," he nods toward the restraints, "and the sedative. It's protocol."
"Where are you taking me?" she asks, voice gravelly. He doesn't detect any anger in her tone, but then this was the Black Widow...if she didn't want you to know she was upset about something, then you wouldn't know. Still, he thinks if anything she just sounds bored.
He frowns because he was under the impression that she had been informed of the procedures ahead of being sedated. "They didn't tell you?"
"Protocol, I suppose," she says dryly.
"A secure, remote SHIELD base. Somewhere you can-"
"Continue to be assessed and make sure I'm not still programmed to slit your throat in the middle of the night?"
It takes him a beat to realize she'd been joking. The humour is a bit dark for his taste, but he smiles because he's started to appreciate her quips. They were always quick, and very dry, albeit usually dark, but still funny. "Something like that," he says with a smile, even though her assessment isn't far off. This was a chance for him to assess whether she was ready to be an agent, but it was also a chance to give her time to figure herself out.
"And I'm guessing by your surprised expression I was supposed to still be sedated for arrival?" Her voice is a bit clearer now, and so are her eyes. He figures the sedative is nearly out of her system now.
"That was the plan, yes."
"Do you want me to…?" she says dryly, trailing off as she tilts her head down and closes her eyes for a moment, faking sleep. When she reopens her eyes there's amusement dancing in them. Evidently, she's enjoying having thrown a wrench into their plans. Given everything, Phil's not sure he doesn't blame her.
He smiles at her joke. "Actually, if you don't mind that would be great." Credit to her, she doesn't look surprised at his acceptance of her cheeky offer, though he's fairly sure she's surprised by the trust he's giving her. They may have some level of trust between them but allowing her to go against protocols was on a whole new level for them. "Saves me from having to give you this," he says, reaching down to open a small briefcase by his feet and show her the syringe inside. "Probably only five, maybe ten minutes until we land."
"You're serious," she says with just the barest hint of disbelief in her tone.
"As a heart attack," he quips with a small smile.
She waits a beat before replying. "SHIELD employs very strange people," she says before closing her eyes and tilting her head down. He has to admit, he'd be none the wiser that she was awake if he hadn't seen her wake up.
"Don't forget, you're one of those people now too, Ms. Romanoff."
He sees the corner her mouth twitch up into a smile before it relaxes again, and he grins. A moment later Jansen appears again. "Sir, we're beginning the landing protocol. Do you want me to check the prisoner before we begin?"
"Jansen, she's not a prisoner," he reminds her.
The man looks sheepish. "Right! Of course. I didn't mean- I'm sorry, I'm just used to-"
"I know," Phil assures him, holding up a hand to stop his apology. Jansen was a good egg and treated actual SHIELD prisoners much better than a lot of the people from the transport crews he had encountered over the years. (People tended to hold a lot of grudges.) "She's secure, we can proceed with landing."
"Understood," he says with a nod before turning and heading back up to the cockpit.
"This is your room," Phil says as he opens the door and gestures for her to enter. He stays in the doorway as she slips past him and looks around the room appraisingly. "Sorry it's a bit plain," he adds when his gaze drifts to the drab grey walls and general lack of colour. It's better than a cell, for sure, but it's lacking character for sure.
"It's fine," she says with a glance over her shoulder back at him. Her gaze flicks to the guard standing behind him glaring at her before she turns around again to look at the space.
"Stand down, agent," he orders the guard, sending a glare of his own to him. "We're all good here. You can proceed with your perimeter sweep."
The man's gaze narrows, but he does as instructed and disappears down the hall. Begrudgingly, Phil notes. I'll have to keep an eye on that.
"Sorry about that," he apologizes.
She trails a hand across the bed before turning to look at him with a neutral expression. "I don't blame him. I'm a threat," she says plainly.
She's not wrong per se, but it still rubs him the wrong way that that's how she sees herself. "Not to me."
"No? You don't think I can-"
"I know what you can do. I've read the files. I've seen the reports. I know you could kill me in about fifteen different ways with just what's in this room. But you won't."
"I count twenty," she retorts, a hint of a smirk on her lips. There's that dark humour again, he notes.
"You made your choice," he continues without acknowledging her comment. "You've undergone extensive deprogramming and testing. I'm confident you're where you want to be and are eager to start a new chapter of your life. Killing or harming me or anyone else here is counter productive to that."
She's quiet for a moment, and her neutral expression is admittedly a little daunting. He wonders idly if she'll ever get to a point where she's comfortable showing emotion around people. "I see why you and Agent Barton get along," she says finally. "You're both exceedingly optimistic."
Phil chuckles. "Trust me, Barton's not optimistic. He's pretty pessimistic most of the time. He's coming around though. I, however, have to balance out Director Fury's grumpiness. Or at least that's what he tells me." Her only response is a raised eyebrow. O...kay, I expected at least a little bit of a reaction to that joke. "Anyway, they stocked the room with clothes for you, and there's toiletries in the bathroom over there," he says while pointing to the door.
"I don't see any cameras."
"That's because there aren't any. You're not a prisoner here. You're...recovering."
"And you're observing," she counters.
"Yes," he admits because she's right. After all, part of his job is to assess whether she's really put her past behind her and is ready to be an agent. "But you will have some measure of privacy here."
If she's surprised by his admission, she doesn't show it. "What is the daily itinerary?"
"There'll be some things penciled in according to the recommendations of your doctors, and what's required to certify you as an agent, but largely you'll have free time."
She arches a brow doubtfully. "And what do you want me to do in this free time?"
He shrugs. "Whatever you like. Meditate, cook, read, watch movies, train...it's up to you."
She holds his gaze, and he figures this has probably surprised her. "I see."
"Only thing on the books tonight is a meeting with your potential therapist after dinner. It's just a meet and greet, nothing more than that just yet."
"Potential therapist?"
"For therapy to work, you need to trust the person you're working with. I've picked someone I trust and respect, but I don't assume that it will be a good fit for you. That will be up to you to decide."
"I've never done therapy before," she says, almost casually. He hears the unspoken question in there though.
"It's nothing like it used to be. It gets a bad reputation from the more, uh, macho members of society, but it's an incredibly helpful tool to deal with things. And Gabriella is great. Really great. She's got tons of experience with a bunch of different situations and backgrounds."
"You sound like you speak from experience."
"I do," he confirms. He's never been ashamed of having gone to therapy and has championed its benefits for years. You can't be in this line of work and not need to cope with things, after all.
"Was she your therapist?"
"No, mine retired a few years back." He watches as she walks over to a bookshelf, filled with a variety of novels spanning many genres. "Do you want some time to settle in, or should we get straight to dinner?"
"Well, I don't have anything to put away," she says wryly, and he grins, "so dinner is fine."
"Well, you're free to get changed if you like and then meet me in the kitchen. It's just down at the end of the hall and to the left. I'll see what we've got to work with for some dinner."
He gives her a smile and then leaves her alone in her room as he heads to the kitchen. It's a little early for dinner, but he has a feeling that leaving some extra time for her meeting with her therapist is a good idea, so he'll settle for a 5pm dinner. A quick scan of the cupboards and fridge yields a surprisingly wide variety of options for dinner even though this kitchen is just for the two of them. The rest of the skeleton crew (some guards who remained outside the base now that they'd arrived, a couple of techs who were in another building altogether, and a couple of mechanics that floated between the buildings) have their own living quarters in a separate building.
He hears a shuffle in the doorway and looks up to find Natasha there. "Looks like we're pretty well stocked. Anything you're craving for dinner? I'm no Gordon Ramsay, but I've got a few dishes in my arsenal."
"I haven't eaten much American food."
"Well, how does mac and cheese sound?"
She frowns as though trying to remember something, but the look disappears quickly. "It sounds unhealthy."
He chuckles. "Don't worry, it's not from a box."
Over the next few weeks, they fall into something of a routine. She's exceeding everyone's expectations with her acclimation to a new life and culture, and according to the brief updates from Gabriella, she's engaged in her therapy sessions (though that's all she tells him; she's always been a stickler for respecting the privacy of her patients). But he suspects those sessions are draining for Natasha, because he often spots her out on the small patio around dusk, staring out seemingly blankly. He's left her alone when she's gone out there until today, because he figures maybe she could use a conversation partner other than Gabriella.
"Hey, I brought you a hot chocolate," he says from the doorway as he holds out the mug.
She blinks rapidly a few times, seemingly shaking herself out of her head and refocusing on the present before she turns her head to look at him. He watches her gaze swiftly flick from him to the mugs in his hands and then back up to meet his gaze again. "Thank you," she says, offering a small smile and holding out a hand to accept one of the mugs.
"You mind if I join you?" he asks. "Been awhile since I've seen fireflies," he adds with a nod to the pulsing, floating lights that aren't far from the patio.
"It's fine."
"Thanks," he says as he takes a seat on the bench beside her. "You ever see them before?" he asks, gesturing to them.
He sees a strange expression cross her face for a second before it's schooled into a neutral one once more. "Yes."
"Pretty, huh?"
"Yes." Phil sighs. She seems to sense his frustration because a moment later she elaborates. "I saw them when I was a child, I think."
"In the Red Room?"
She shakes her head. "No, it was…" She squeezes her eyes shut, as though trying to remember, "No, not there. I don't- It's not clear."
Her answer is disjointed, and he can feel the frustration coming off her. "They said it would take some time for things to settle back into place after the deprogramming sessions," he reminds her.
"I know," she replies quickly, perhaps a bit defensively, he thinks. He thinks there's a tiny bit of frustration in there too though.
"Used to see these guys when I went camping as a kid. We'd catch 'em in jars and use them to light up our tent."
Her expression twists again. "I think- I think I saw them a lot as a kid. They feel...important. Significant."
He nods. Progress. This is progress. She's sharing. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
Okay, so maybe not steady progress exactly, he thinks dryly. "How are your sessions with Gabriella going?"
"You don't know?"
"Doctor-patient confidentiality," he reminds her before he realizes that privacy was more than likely a novel concept for her. "I get reports saying if you attended, but that's about it. She'll write an assessment of your fitness for duty when we're done here, but the specifics of your sessions are between you and her."
"It's hard," she admits. "There's a lot I can't remember or explain. But she…makes sense of things sometimes."
"Is it helpful?"
"It's hard," she repeats in a frustrated tone.
"You'll get there," he assures her with a smile. "It's not easy figuring out what you want and how to get it."
She stays quiet while she stares at the fireflies. A few moments later she breaks the silence. "I think I knew a girl once that liked them," she says with a nod toward the beetles. "I think she called them lamp bugs."
"They're called that in some places in the US," he offers. "When I was a kid, a friend of mine from summer camp called them lightning bugs."
She closes her eyes as she rubs at her temple, clearly in a bit of pain. The doctors had warned her that there might be some pain with 'forcing' herself to remember some things and Phil wonders if that's the case now. "You want some Advil or something for that?" he offers.
"I'm fine," she says, eyes opening as she smiles briefly at the offer.
"Alright," he says as he gets up to his feet. "I'll leave you be. Good night."
"Good night."
He makes it to the door and then turns back. "Natasha?" She turns to look at him over her shoulder with a curious expression. "Director Fury trusts my judgment. And I know you're going to be a valuable addition to SHIELD."
He sees a genuine smile curl on her lips at these words, and he commits the moment to memory immediately. Ice cold Russian assassin, my ass, he thinks. This one's got a good heart.
"What the hell are you doing out here? It's freezing."
Phil laughs at Melinda's outrage. She'd never been a fan of the cold. "This? This is nothing. Try being stranded in Siberia with no winter jacket. That's cold."
"It's cold enough," she grumbles.
"It's really not." It was maybe a little chilly, but even that was a stretch in his opinion.
"Well, some of us came directly from civilized climates, alright?" He chuckles at her grumbling. "What are you doing out here?" she asks again as she takes a seat next to him.
"Watching the fireflies," he says, pointing to the pulsing lights a few yards away. She frowns in a silent request for more information, so he explains further. "I remember when Natasha first defected, not long after her deprogramming sessions were done Fury sent me and her to the base out in the Rocky Mountains."
"Observation and assessment of her suitability to be an agent. I remember. You were there for a couple of months with her."
"I found her out on the patio one night, just staring blankly at some fireflies. She'd been out there a lot that week, and all she ever did was stare at them. She had this look of…I don't know what it was. It was like she was confused and sentimental and angry all at the same time."
"Well, her head was a mess back then. Those sessions weren't exactly a walk in the park."
"She said she thought the fireflies were significant to her; that they were important in some way. I wonder if she ever found out why." Melinda stays silent and Phil turns to look at her. "I hate that I'm keeping this secret from her."
"It's not up to you," she reminds him.
"But it should be. She was always more than just an agent to me. You know that. Her and Clint...they were my friends. Good ones."
"Phil," she sighs.
"Natasha made it through hell and then some, and still came out the other side with a heart and a kind soul. She carved out a family with us, and now I'm betraying every bit of trust she ever put in me."
"You know-"
"I know I'm making them grieve losing me when I don't have to. They've both already lost so much…"
"It's the job," she reminds him. "We all sign up knowing that we could lose the person next to us."
"Yeah, that's the thing though. They haven't lost me. I'm still here." She sighs heavily and she doesn't have to say anything for him to know she's disappointed in his argument. "I know," he says with a sigh of his own, "but she'll find out on her own eventually. You can't hide things from the Black Widow. Not for long anyway, and she's gonna be pissed."
"You should come inside and get some rest," Melinda says after a beat of awkward, heavy silence, ignoring his response entirely.
"I will," he promises with another soft sigh. "Just wanna watch for a few more minutes. Reminisce and all that."
I love the idea that Phil might've been around during Nat's defection and indeed involved to some extent at bringing her on board. There's certainly a ton to explore there. And I just *know* he didn't feel great about not telling them about his resurrection.
Anyway, as always, any/all thoughts are very much welcomed - comments always bring a smile to my face. 😊
(For those interested - I posted a oneshot little while back delving into Yelena's memories of her sister in the aftermath of her death. It's called Trace Decay - check it out if that's your kind of thing.)
More to come...