Hello again! I am soooooo sorry for the late update! I swear I haven't given up on this fic! I have been very busy this summer and haven't found the time nor motivation to write. Also Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans came out and I just had to write a couple one-shots for that! But now I'm back and there shouldn't be a wait that long again. Now without further ado, enjoy this next chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or setting or anything in this, just the idea (kind of)

Pain. That's the first thing Natasha feels as she slowly begins to regain consciousness. Pain, and a sense that she's not alone. Natasha evens out her breath, and acts like she's still knocked out, all the while straining her ears to see if anyone is in this room with her. As she's listening, she starts canvasing her environment, using her other senses to give her more information. She twitches her hands slightly, and feels them rub against a soft fabric - most likely a blanket. She notices her head is resting on a plush pillow, and she concludes that she's lying in a bed. But where?

As Natasha breathes she takes in the smells of the room. She smells the tangy scent of plaster and paint, along with the stench of people so Natasha figures this is a well used room. A breeze also wafts through to the right of her, and she assumes that there is a window and that she is a few stories up. I must be in an apartment of some sort, she thinks.

Natasha collects her thoughts and refocuses on her sense of hearing. At first she hears nothing and assumes she's alone. A few moments pass and she's about to let her eyes flutter open when she hears a slight shuffle a few feet away from her. She sucks in a short breath of surprise but quickly forces it to return to a normal pace.

Natasha isn't alone. There's someone else in this room with her.

But who could it be? Did the widows who were chasing her finally catch up to her? Natasha thought she lost them though she knows better than to underestimate her sisters. Or could it have been someone from the trolley she jumped on? She vaguely remembers briefly talking to a man before passing out. Or is it a new threat entirely? Natasha isn't blind to the horrors she's caused. She knows she's hurt people in the name of the red room and she's aware she's wanted in many countries. She's usually able to stay under the radar, but perhaps her luck has finally run out and the consequences have caught up to her. Whatever the case, she needs to figure out who is in this room with her before it's too late.

"I know you're awake." A voice rings out from the corner, startling Natasha out of her thoughts, "I can see your eyes shifting under your eyelids."

"Damn," Natasha says, deciding to reveal herself and opening her eyes for the first time, "And here I thought I was being sneaky." She waits to hear her company's response, ready to gauge his reaction to see what kind of person he is. He laughs brightly and she turns her head to look at him. Her eyes widen as she notices that it is the guy from the trolley. She recognizes his dark skin and hair from their initial conversation.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, concerned. It was then that Natasha realizes her arm aches uncomfortably and pain shoots up it as she tries to move her shoulder. She turns her head to get a better look at it, and she sees that the wound is bandaged up tight. She turns back to the man quizzically and he smiles softly. "I'm no doctor, but I patched you up as best as I could."

"T-thank you," Natasha stutters, surprised that someone would actually help her. "Who are you?"

"The names Mason, Rick Mason." The man says, bowing deeply. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, trying to place the name.

"And?"

"And what?" Mason asks, his face scrunched in confusion.

"Well, is 'Rick Mason' supposed to mean anything to me? I still don't know who you are."

"Then how about a friend," Mason stands up and smiles innocently as Natasha gazes at him apprehensively. Should she trust him? He did save her from the Widows. Unless he's secretly working for them and plans to turn her over as soon as she lets down her guard. Mason watches as her thoughts race and he sighs quietly. "I can see you still need some time, so how about I go make some dinner. How do eggs sound? Sorry, but that's about all I have at the moment."

"Uh, great. Thanks. Wait, dinner?" Natasha asks.

"Yeah, you were knocked out for quite some time. I would have woken you up sooner but it seemed like you needed the rest."

"Oh, well thank you. I really appreciate all your help." Natasha says honestly. Mason beams at her and walks out of the room and to the kitchen, leaving the door propped open slightly so she knows she can leave whenever she wants but so she also still has her privacy. Natasha feels herself smile at the gesture. Maybe-maybe the world isn't so bad, she thinks while listening to Mason hum while preparing the eggs. Perhaps by the end of this, she might even have a friend!

No, shut it down, no, Natasha's brows furrow as her thoughts take a dark turn, after all the pain you've caused, you don't deserve friends. Natasha's lip quivers and she tries to keep her composure, refusing to break down. After years of toture by Dreykov and the Red Room, and after more than two decades of being forced to take others' lives, Natasha had had enough. She's spent weeks carefully plotting her escape, determined to get away from the Red Room and her past forever. But now that she's finally out, Natasha realizes that she doesn't deserve to have a life. She doesn't deserve happiness. She has too much red in her ledger, and there is no way she can ever make up for the pain she's caused.

"Miss? The food is done!" Mason's voice calls cheerfully from the kitchen, ripping Natasha from the dark depths of her mind. She slowly gets out of bed, wincing as her injured arm is jostled. She's had worse injuries and it should be fully healed in a week or so, but until then she's going to have to deal with the constant throbbing down her whole arm. That sure won't be fun.

"Smells delicious," She says and she enters the kitchen.

"Why thank you!" Mason responds, gesturing to the seat next to him at the table. Natasha grabs it and looks at him warily before moving it to the other side, so the two are sitting across from each other. Mason raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything and continues to devour his meal. Natasha grabs a fork and takes a bite herself, letting out an involuntary 'mmmm'.

"Tastes delicious too," She says around a mouthful of gooey over-easy eggs. There's something about the food, and the atmosphere that makes Natasha feel at home - a feeling she hasn't felt in over fifteen years. Not since back in Ohio…

"I realize I have yet to get your name."

"The names Ramonoff, Natasha Romanoff." Natasha responds smirking, repeating Mason's cringy greeting. Mason chuckles and shakes his head.

"Heh, that really was bad."

"Yup," Natasha says around a mouth of eggs. They continue eating and laughing, and for a moment Natasha can act normal, and feel almost happy. She knows the moment will end sooner or later, but for now she's going to enjoy it as much as she can.

After dinner, and triple checking she's okay, Mason leaves to attend other business. He said something about how Natasha wasn't the only one who needed his help? Natasha raised an eyebrow at that, but he just smiled and left her his number in case of an emergency.

"Seriously, don't hesitate to call me," He had said, looking her in the eyes until she nodded and promised.

Now she's all alone in a small apartment that isn't hers with absolutely nothing to do.

"Well, this is going to get boring fast," She says to herself and the empty room. She looks around the kitchen, opening drawers and doing inventory. There could be something useful here, she thinks, though she knows she's kidding herself. She looks towards the living room and out the window at the large city below her. She just needs something to distract from the slowly crushing loneliness. Even though the Red Room was torture - both physically and emotionally - at least she was always surrounded by people. Natasha's used to the silence, but not the deafening ringing in her ears that comes with being alone.

The ringing disappears almost as quickly as it came as the silence is pierced by an arrow whizzing by her face. Natasha jumps back in surprise as the projectile embeds itself into the kitchen wall behind her. She growls, cursing herself for letting her guard down and being so vulnerable. She should have known better and been absolutely sure that there was no way anyone could find her. Now the Widows have arrived to drag her back to the hell she just barely escaped.

"Over my dead body," Natasha mutters, snagging two sharp knives from the chopping block before falling into a defensive pose. She listens closely and hears the twang of a bowstring being drawn from somewhere nearby. She waits then jumps to the left and ducks under the counter as she hears the faint whistle of another arrow being shot at her. It lands in the wall once more, exactly where she had just been standing. She groans as her arm aches, the straining reopening the wound.They're persistent, I'll give them that, Natasha thinks as she dodges yet another arrow that makes a home in Mason's kitchen wall. Natasha's brow furrows in frustration and she stands up, quickly growing tired of this game of cat and mouse.

"Did you know that it's considered rude to wreck someone else's house?" She calls to the air, waiting for the Widows to take the bait and show themselves. Natasha hears a loud thunk, and the bricks above the large window at the other side of the room shifts. She watches as a single figure slides down a rope, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The person flies feet first into the glass, and Natasha ducks back under the counter as shards shoot around the room, landing in everything and anything. She hears someone land on the rug, and listens as they draw a fourth arrow. Wait a minute…, Natasha thinks, her mind racing through all the different types of weapons the Widows use.

"Come out now with your hands up, you have nowhere to run." A deep, masculine voice calls out. Natasha's eyes widen in surprise and she slowly stands, her hands raised high in the air and knives falling from her limp fingers. She finally gets a good look at the man standing in front of her. He has messy blond hair, is wearing all black, aside from a small streak of dark purple on his sleeves. He has a bandage across his nose, and glasses covering the fire in his eyes. He scowls at her and levels his bow with her chest, ready to let go of the string should things go south.

But whoever he is, Natasha is sure he isn't a Widow.

"You're not-"

"Natasha Romanoff, by order of S.H.I.E.L.D, I am placing you under arrest."

And so they meet. I hope you enjoyed! I'm working to pump out the next chapter as quick as I can, so hopefully I can get it out soon! Until then, goodbye and I hope you're having a good day/night!