Natasha stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection. The engines hummed quietly, on autopilot even while the ship's occupants slept. It was the middle of the night, after all. Natasha gripped the edge of the sink with shaking hands, taking sharp, ragged breaths.

Closing her eyes, the images flashed before her, the nightmare still fresh on her mind. Except it wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory.

Eleven years later, and she still couldn't escape the Red Room. Somehow, it would always be part of her, would always follow her, no matter how far away from Earth she was.

Natasha looked at her reflection in the mirror.

The girl she saw was not herself but a stranger, a Widow forged by Dreykov to meet his needs, his wants. A scared girl, a puppet, a tool, but never her own person. Never just Natasha.

Maybe she would always see the girl she was when Alexei betrayed them. Maybe she could never escape that day on the Cuban tarmac, looking up at the only father she had ever known, knowing he was sending them back to Dreykov.

Gritting her teeth, Natasha looked away from her reflection. She hated that she could never escape her past. The nightmares would always haunt her. They never stopped, even now, so many years later.

The floor tile was cool on her bare feet, and goosebumps made her shiver as she stood in front of the mirror, holding onto the sink like it was a lifeline.

Taking one last look at her reflection, she reached for her pocket knife she kept in the bathroom drawer. She grabbed the knife and cut through her thick braid, cutting her hair to about shoulder length.

It felt strangely empowering, taking ownership of her hair, her appearance. Taking ownership of her life.

The Red Room couldn't control her. Not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha threw the braid in the trash and turned on the tap. Little pieces of hair flushed down the drain, washed away in a moment, like they had never existed.

If only the rest of life was that easy. If only memories could be washed away, disappear down the drain never to be seen again.

If only she could forget.

Looking in the mirror, she took in her own reflection, lightly touching the jagged ends of her hair. It was messy and uneven, but she felt lighter than she had in a long time.

She still wasn't used to making her own choices, even now. Even making a decision about something as simple as a haircut felt freeing and terrifying all at once.

She turned off the lights and tiptoed into the bunk she shared with Yelena. Her sister lay on the bottom bunk, dead to the world. Her arms were spread wide in a starfish-like position and her mouth was wide open as she snored softly.

Natasha quietly put on her boots and her Ravager jacket and slowly made her way to the door, her path lit by the small star-shaped night lights near the bunk bed, a gift from Peter when Yelena was six and scared of the dark. Even after he gave them the nightlight, Yelena refused to sleep in her own bed for months. She would wake up screaming from nightmares and always got into Natasha's bed, curling up beside her and shaking.

Even now, Yelena didn't like the dark.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Natasha stepped into the hallway before quickly closing it again. She made her way to the training room on the lower level, creeping along the semi-light hallways as quietly as she could.

Most of the Ravagers were asleep this time of night, with the exception of those guard duty, so the training room was empty.

She kicked off her boots and shrugged off her jacket, stepping onto the mats in just her loose sleeping shirt and sweatpants.

She went through a few stretches before practicing some techniques on the plastic dummy in the corner, running towards it before wrapping her legs around its neck and slamming it to the ground, pinning it to the ground. Getting to her feet, she picked up the dummy and set it upright before repeating the maneuver, this time a little faster.

She did this a few times before moving on to the boxing bag that hung on the other side of the room. Stepping off the mats, she winced at the feeling of the cold concrete on her bare feet.

Natasha made her way to the boxing bag and started to punch, ignoring her cold feet and trembling hands. Tucking her newly cropped hair behind her ears, she threw herself into the repetitive punching motion, focusing on nothing but the bag, shutting out everything else.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

It was just a dream.

Punch.

"You're not there anymore."

Punch.

This was the Eclector, not the Red Room.

Punch.

"You should be fine."

Punch. Punch.

Her eyes stinging from sweat and tears, Natasha wiped her face on her sleeve, leaning against the bag heavily. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few ragged breaths. Straightening, she hit the bag with renewed anger as the images flashed before her eyes.

Melina bleeding out on the tarmac, lying motionless on a stretcher.

Punch.

Madame B slapping her so hard her teeth rattled.

Punch.

Dreykov handing her a gun and ordering her to shoot one of the other girls.

Punch. Punch.

Alexei kneeling to look her in the eye even as she felt a needle in her neck.

Punch.

Yelena clinging to her in the back of the transport truck, crying and afraid.

Punch.

"Whaddya think you're doin'?"

A sudden voice startled her and she jumped, turning toward the source of the noise.

Leaning against the doorframe, Yondu gave her a twisted grin.

"What are you doin' up this late?"

Natasha shrugged, grabbing the bag with both hands to keep it from swinging back and forth.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Ah."

Yondu meandered over to her side of the room, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Looks like you've got some nasty bruisin' there." He commented, nodding towards her bruised knuckles.

"Forget to wear the gloves?"

"I'm fine." Natasha snapped, pushing a stray hair out of her face.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Yondu."

He grinned, showing off his gold tooth.

"I know you ain't. But I can't have one of my best Ravagers out of commission because of a dumbass injury."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some boxing tape and tossed it in her direction.

"Use this next time."

Catching the tape with one hand, Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Fine."

Yondu leaned against the wall casually, crossing his arms.

"New look?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha shrugged self-consciously, turning the tape over in her hands.

"Just wanted something different."

"It's different all right." Yondu smirked.

"I wanted to look like me, okay?" Natasha scowled, stuffing the tape in the pocket of her sweatpants and looking away.

"I didn't want to look like his Widow."

Yondu's smile faded. He didn't need to ask who she was referring to.

"You ain't his Widow, Nat. Haircut or no haircut, he don't own you."

Natasha looked down at her feet and frowned.

"Yeah, well."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, staring at the floor.

"He did a real good job of convincing us otherwise."

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the whirring of the ship's engines.

Yondu cleared his throat and reached into his other pocket, taking out his flask. He took a sip before wordlessly offering it to her.

Natasha took it from him and took a long drink, the whiskey burning her throat.

She passed it back to him and stuffed her hands in her pockets, leaning against the wall. Yondu joined her, taking a sip and staring out the viewport window. They passed the flask back and forth, drinking in silence until it was finally empty.

Yondu pocketed the flask and turned to face her, his face unusually serious.

"You're free, girl. They don't own us."

Natasha shrugged, staring at the floor.

"Tell my brain that."

Yondu smiled sardonically.

"Look, kid, you ain't ever gonna get rid of the memories. Those'll stick around forever, no one's free from that shit. But Dreykov, the Red Room, they ain't ever gonna control you again. You can make your own dumbass choices, live your own life."

He reached out awkwardly, patting her shoulder roughly.

"Remember that."

Natasha smiled wanly and looked up at him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

"Promise?"

Yondu gave her shoulder one last pat before pulling away.

"Yeah, kid. I promise."

Natasha sucked in a breath and nodded, looking away and surreptitiously wiping her eyes.

Yondu was a lot of things, but he was no liar. He was a criminal, a smuggler and a thief. He was gruff and abrasive, almost mean at times, even when Natasha was just a kid. He had no moral objection to sending kids on Ravager jobs, and he had sent her and Yelena into danger many times just for the sake of his own greed.

Yondu was far from perfect, but he could always be counted on to be brutally honest. He was always honest, even when Natasha wished he wasn't, and he never lied to her. He always tried to protect her, Yelena, and Peter, and looked out for them in his own way.

Yondu was the closest thing she had to a father since Alexei handed them over to Dreykov. Even so, she and Yondu weren't that close, and never had been. They were both guarded, forged by trauma and betrayal, and kept their emotions locked away.

Peter and Yelena had always been far more emotional, prone to outbursts and anger, but Natasha was far more like Yondu. She kept everything bottled up, kept people at a distance.

Still, Yondu was probably the closest thing she would ever have to a dad.

She had lived here longer than she had ever lived in Ohio. Her memories of Earth had faded in the last eleven years, and in that time the Eclector had become more of a home than Ohio had ever been. And yet. There were some things she would never forget, memories that would haunt her dreams.

But Yondu was right. Dreykov didn't own her. The Red Room didn't own her.

She was her own person, a sister, a friend, a Ravager. The Red Room would never control her again.

Natasha Romanova was free.